Author: Lauren.
Rating: Rated M.
Character/Pairing: Jessica Moore, Sam Winchester, Sam/Jess.
Summary: Still in my heart this moment or it might burst.
Disclaimer: The storyline and AU scenario is mine. I claim nothing else.
Author's Note: I don't think this will be a one shot because I have tons of ideas for scenes and such so ya. Look forward to that. As for the continued Sam/Jess I seem to keep spouting, accept that I love them, him, her. Why did they kill her? Stupid, stupid move Eric. You've made Loz mad now. Anyway, please review if you read, I love them and if you put something real nice I might even reply. Stay pretty kids.
What's happening between them, she can't decide. It isn't concrete or solid or something she can measure. Not that she wants to, she's fine with what it is. What is it? She swears they're friends with benefits, but when he holds her, her heart tells her otherwise.
The morning after the night before he shows up at her apartment to find her folding laundry. You weren't there when I woke up. She can taste the hurt in his voice and turns to him, hand on her hip, hair curly damp from the shower she'd taken an hour ago. We slept together, it doesn't mean you're my boyfriend. But it does. Oh it does.
And his face crumples and she wants to kiss it all away. But if she doesn't make a stand now, they'll fall into couples territory and that's the last thing Jessica Moore wants. She explains the concept to him slowly, and he reacts… differently than she'd expected. Friends with benefits. Labels. Rules. It's how she separates what they're doing from love.
But his concern, his only concern so it seems, is when he can see her again. And that's new. No guy has ever said that before. She hides her shock behind a throw away laugh and a promise on her pink lips that this won't be the last he hears of her.
And thank God it isn't because when it happens again and her fingernails leave half moon imprints in his back, she could swear that she could do this forever. But she grew up on football and hard drinking and domestics that lasted weeks and she doesn't think that Sam Winchester's lopsided grin would understand any of that.
But when he talks about his family, his grumpy scruff of a dad and a brother who drives him insane, she feels like maybe he knows. Maybe.
And when he traces his hand across her stomach and she shivers inside but doesn't show it, he asks the questions about the scar by her left hip. She tells him she fell off a swing and by the look in his eyes he knows a liar when he sees one. Truth be told, it had more to do with a broken beer bottle.
There are times when he reminds her of things she thought she'd left behind. Like when he gets jealous. Jess has never seen anything like it, mild mannered Clark Kent becomes Superman in the blink of an eye. And she witnesses it herself one night he finds her in someone else's lap.
She hates him that night, curses him to the high heavens and back again. But still in the morning she's tracing the outline of his head in the cold, cold pillow and wishing that she hadn't insisted he left before her room mates woke up.
They don't often fight but when they do, she's usually the instigator. Always because he got too close, she's scared, he's all over her and she can't take it. She can't be Jessica Winchester, she screams at him, she can't. And he doesn't speak for a long time after that. But then she comes back to him, forces him to look at her, squeezes his hands until it hurts her, because being hurt by him is better than not being with him.
She loves the way he holds her. When she's asleep and he thinks she doesn't know, he crushes her body against his, knots his fingers through hers and breaths her in. She knows it because she does the same. Takes him in when no one else is watching.
The first time they met it had been the same. She'd been all short skirt, blonde hair skimming bare shoulders, swinging hips. He was trying to have a conversation with someone else. Trying because she could feel his eyes on her body, on her face, on her hair. Failing because he couldn't stop looking. So she was appearing not to care that he wanted her, when in truth she was singing on the inside.
He loves me, he loves me not. She remembered the games she'd played as a little girl with her sister. Something about six feet tall and ending up with nothing at all. They'd been morbid kids, what could she say?
With Sam she was never sorry. Not until she found him fumbling in a drawer. And she caught a glint of metal before he turned his back on it, his mouth drawn tight like purse strings. Lying purse strings and an unreadable expression.
That night as he slept she ran a hand across his face and tried to loosen the tension gathered in between his eyes. Serious even in his sleep. Only Sam Winchester. So she'll never tell him the truth, the boy is too burdened already. He won't know of possessions and greedy tongues of fire licking at her edges and screams that grow vacant in the empty night. Of Fathers who disappear and reappear unexplained and Mothers who stare off into the distance while the paint peels and the water boils on the stove.
Maybe one day he'll find her fumbling inside her drawer. Maybe then they'll have some truth between them.