The microwave had been beeping for several seconds before Jules finally appeared in the kitchen and opened the door, silencing it. She reached in, pulled out the steaming mug from inside, and swung the microwave door closed again. Then she turned and trudged back into the living room.

"Tea's warm again?"

"Yeah." Jules settled herself back into the recliner that she had just vacated, and set the mug down on the coffee table next to her. Sam watched her with a raised eyebrow.

"Are you going to drink it now, or let it get cold again?"

Jules shot him an annoyed look and didn't answer. She merely curled tighter into her chair, tucking her knees in to her chest. Sam looked up from the sports magazine he was perusing and gave her a puzzled look.

"Wait a minute, since when do you drink tea? You've never – you don't like tea. Remember that time when you had a bad cold and I spent half my paycheck buying different flavors of tea so I could find one that you'd like, and you didn't even…" Sam trailed off when he caught the look on Jules's face. Her brow was creased and her lip stuck out in a pout that was all too familiar to him.

"I want tea," Jules said mulishly.

"So drink it," Sam suggested, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Instead of smiling in response, Jules's lip began trembling. She blinked rapidly and turned her face into the cushion beside her. The grin slid off of Sam's face, and he sighed. He halfheartedly picked up his magazine, then tossed it back onto the couch and sat up.

"Jules," he said gently. She didn't answer.

Sam rubbed his hands over his face, then leaned over and rested his elbows on his knees. He studied the petite figure curled up on the recliner in his living room with soft affection and sympathy. She was so small, so delicate… so precious. The slender ring on her finger, adorned with the largest diamond Sam could afford, promised that she would always be his. His to love, his to cherish, his to protect… His to try to understand…

A soft sound interrupted his reverie. Jules was crying quietly. Sam stood and crossed the room. In one swift movement, he lifted Jules off of her seat, sat down in her place, and settled her on his lap. She looked up, startled, and her eyes, wet with tears, met his, bright with empathy. Jules made a brief attempt to dry her eyes, then gave up when more tears took the place of those she wiped away. She turned towards Sam instead, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face into his chest.

"It's okay, Jules," Sam murmured into her hair, stroking her back gently with his fingertips. "It's okay, sweetheart…"

Sam glanced over at the clock above the television.

Ten-thirty. Right on schedule… actually, it was eleven o'clock last night. Close enough.

He sighed and gripped Jules closer as her sobs increased.

"Shh… it's okay, sweetheart," he whispered. "It's okay…"

This is not okay. This is definitely not okay.

Sam's left hand continued to stroke Jules's back in a rhythmic motion, his right hand protectively around her waist. He found himself humming softly, the first song that meandered its way into his head. Perhaps he'd heard it on the radio during patrol today. Perhaps he'd heard it in the supermarket when he'd stopped to pick up dinner. Either way, it was playing in his head, and he sang it softly to his fiancé.

"Look at the stars… look how they shine for you…" He rested his cheek on top of Jules's head, listening to her shuddering breaths. "…And everything you do… yeah, they were all yellow…"

Her shaking had subsided. She seemed to be listening to his soft singing. Encouraged, he continued.

"I came along… I wrote a song for you… and all the things you do…" His hand reached up to Jules's hair, gently smoothing it down. "…And it was called yellow…"

Jules adjusted her position on Sam's lap, turning her face sideways to rest against him. Sam looked down at her tear-streaked face and puffy eyes, his heart twisting in his chest. A lump formed in his throat, and he found it difficult to sing. When Jules looked up at him, though, her eyes searching his, he somehow managed to continue.

"Your skin… oh yeah, your skin and bones… turn in… to something beautiful…" He resumed his stroking of her hair, gazing at her intently. "Do you know… you know I love you so…" Jules's eyes filled with tears again, but there was trust shining from her eyes rather than pain. "You know I love you so…"

It was twelve thirty when they went to bed. Sam tried to carry Jules – she was fast asleep in his arms – but she woke up as soon as he lifted her and insisted that she walk on her own. Sam knew better than to be surprised or hurt by Jules's independence – he knew and loved her too well for that. Instead he carefully set her down and followed her into his bedroom. She rummaged through his t-shirt drawer for nightwear – probably looking for that grey tee of his that she liked – and Sam headed into the bathroom, pulling off his tear-soaked shirt and chucking it into the hamper as he did.

When he emerged five minutes later, Jules appeared to be sleeping. He paused for a moment, gazing at her fondly. How could he not – she lay in his bed, wrapped in his linens, wearing one of his shirts…

I'm so freakin' lucky to have her, he thought for the thousandth time as he carefully climbed in to bed, nestling himself next to her sleeping form. He gently laid an arm across Jules, closing his eyes.

He opened them again after a few moments.

This can't go on, he thought bleakly. This crying, this – this can't go on. She's –she's suffering too much…

His eyes, wide and anxious, gazed unseeingly at the wall.

I'm going to talk to Dr. Ruth tomorrow. This can't go on.

FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP

Dormant author, roused back into consciousness by new Flashpoint episodes. If the show won't give me Sam/Jules, I'll just have to write my own…

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