Disclaimer: Without a Trace is the property of Hank Steinberg, Jerry Bruckheimer, CBS, etc. I own nothing. Please don't sue, ok?

Summary: When you can't sleep, your mind tends to wander.

Spoilers: This deals with some aftermath from Fallout. If you haven't seen it, go watch it and then come back. It's worth it.

Acknowledgements: Eolivet, thanks for taking a chance on a new girl. Maple Street, you are my second home (even if I'm only lurking)

*****

It's been raining since 4am. Samantha has been awake since before it started, lying in bed staring at the ceiling.  The streetlights have cast odd shapes on the wall opposite the bed, and she can't bear to look at them. Truthfully, the shadows frighten her; they look vaguely human, and the rain makes strange sounds against the windows.

It sounds like voices, Sam thinks.

"It-it was an accident."

Samantha shivers, despite the heavy duvet on her bed. Her leg has begun to throb, a steady drumming in time with the rain against the windows. She throws back the covers and reaches for her cane. Martin brought it to her the day before she left the hospital; he told her it had been his grandmother's. It's beautiful, all polished black wood and silver fittings, but some days Samantha feels like putting it through a wall. She hates having to depend on it, knowing that it is a sign for everyone to see. Word travels fast through the office. Everyone knows what happened, and why she survived.

Jack.

Jack Malone, her boss, her lover, had traded her life for his. He had picked her up, carried her out of that bookstore, and gone back inside to what could have been his own death.

"Be back soon, okay?"

If she'd had the strength, Samantha would have called out for him to stay outside, with her. She hadn't even been able to open her mouth. She had watched him walk away, powerless to stop him.

Samantha makes her way into her kitchen, taking care to avoid the over-sized flower arrangement the team has given her. It is an odd mix; daisies, wildflowers, orchids (those were Vivian's idea, she thinks) and a few pink roses that she's pretty sure came from Martin. There was a card with the flowers, covered in scrawled best wishes from everyone. Everyone except Jack, of course.

His flowers had arrived one morning last week. Samantha had opened the door, on her way to physiotherapy, and almost tripped over them. Three roses: two white, one red, were lying against the doorframe. Samantha had picked them up, found no card attached, and looked up just in time to see the elevator doors close. She'd gone to her appointment knowing the roses has been from Jack, confused as to why he'd left them like that.

Samantha gets an ice pack from the freezer and goes into her living room. She can see most of lower Manhattan from her windows. She used to be able to wake up every morning and look out at the skyline as she drank her first cup of coffee, but all Samantha sees now are random buildings. There isn't anything special about them; not anymore.  She sits down on the couch and props her leg up on the arm, adjusting the ice pack so the condensation won't drip on the leather. Her cell phone is on the coffee table, silent. Jack still has not returned her calls. Samantha doesn't really expect him to, not for a while.

The first time she'd called him had been after she'd come out of surgery. She's woken up, disoriented, to find Danny and Martin sitting next to her bed. They both looked at her, startled, when she spoke, her voice whispered and rusty.

"Jack?"

Danny couldn't look her in the eye. He only stared down at the floor while she looked around the room wildly; trying to find the only person she needed to see. Martin had finally put a hand on her arm, forcing her to look up at him.

"Jack isn't here, Samantha."

Samantha had immediately thought the worst. She'd imagined Jack lying in the bookstore, his blood on the carpet mixing with hers. Imagined Jack lying on a steel table, being cut open, poked and prodded. Samantha began to cry, terrified. Danny had stood up suddenly, leaving the room. Martin had put both his hands on Samantha's face, looking directly in her eyes. She had been surprised by this, and stifled her tears.

"Jack's fine. He is fine, you understand? He got Barry outside and no one is hurt. Everyone is okay."

Samantha had looked up at Martin, her eyes wild, and started to cry again. This time it had been relief.  After a minute, she'd gotten herself under control and looked up at Martin once again.

"Pass me the phone, please."

"Samantha, I don't think that's-"

"Give me the goddamn phone, Martin. Now."

Martin had pulled away from her then. He hadn't looked her in the eye as he pulled his cell phone from his coat and handed it to her, wordlessly. She had punched in a number, not needing to look down; her fingers found the proper keys as they always did. Her hands were steady until the phone started to ring. On the fourth ring, the answering machine kicked in.

"Jack? It, it's me. I just needed to tell you that I, I….."

She had put down the phone then, staring at it as though it were alien. She didn't really know what to say. What could she have said? She had wanted to tell Jack everything and nothing, all at once. Martin had taken the phone from her then, closing off the call, worried if she held it much longer it would end up across the room as a pile of shattered plastic and metal. Samantha had looked up at Martin, and the tears in her eyes had nearly broken his heart; she looked like a little girl whose best teddy bear gets stolen. He put a hand on her back, not really sure what else to do.

"Hey, Samantha, listen, I'm sure Jack-"

She broke down then; sobbing as though her heart had been torn out of her chest. In a way, it had been. Martin could only put his arms around her, stroking her hair, while she fell apart. They stayed that way until the sun came up and the doctors finally kicked him out.

Samantha looks down at her lap to find that she has picked up her own cell phone, and is about to dial a number. Glancing at the clock, she realizes that it is barely 5:30, hardly a time to call anyone, even in New York. Samantha puts the phone down quickly, wondering who she had been about to call. It is a silly, redundant thought, of course.

She was going to call Jack again.

It was strange, but every time she called his house, she wound up having conversations with Marie. Samantha stares out her window, watching as the first light of day peeks around buildings, thinking back to the last conversation she'd had with Marie. She'd called the same day the flowers appeared on her doorstep, the minute she'd returned home. She'd only meant to leave a message to have Jack call her, but Marie had asked a question that had frozen her in place.

"Is he in love with you, Samantha?"

Samantha hadn't known how to respond; she didn't have any idea how Jack felt about her anymore. Marie had waited for an answer, but when Samantha didn't respond, Marie went ahead and kept talking.

"It's okay if he does. At least he's in love with someone. With the girls, it's different. He is their father; he loves them, and he always will, but he doesn't love me the same as how he used to. I don't think he's loved me in a long time, actually. Not since he started working with you."

Marie had gone quiet then, waiting to hear a reaction. She had not been angry with Samantha, only resigned to the fact that her husband had reached a breaking point.

"Marie, you have to understand that I never wanted to break you apart. Our affair is over. It has been for a long time. I don't keep calling because I need him, or want him, or anything you might think. I'm simply calling so I can thank him."

"I don't understand, Samantha. What are you talking about?"

"Jack didn't tell you anything, did he? About that morning he came home?"

"No."

So Samantha had told Marie everything, starting with the moment she'd picked up the phone in the bookstore. Marie remained quiet until Samantha finished speaking, and then asked Samantha the one question no one had asked her before.

"Do you still love him, Samantha?"

Samantha had hesitated, but only for a second. She didn't see any use in lying to Marie.

"Yes, I do."

Samantha shakes her head at the memory. That had been the first time she'd admitted her feelings for Jack to anyone. She found it strange that his wife had been the first to hear it. Samantha shifts her position on the couch, about to lie down and hopefully fall asleep when there is a knock at the door. Looking out the window, she sees that the sun has come up fully now.  Checking the clock, Samantha finds that she has been sitting here for an hour and a half. She gets up, making her way to the door slowly; her leg has stiffened up on her again.

Through the peephole, Samantha can't see anything; there doesn't seem to be anyone there. Going against all her instincts, she opens the door. 

"Hey, Sam. I didn't wake you, did I?"

Stunned, Samantha can only shake her head.  Jack is standing in front of her, looking slightly ashamed. For an instant, Samantha wonders if Marie told him to come over, instead of just calling her back. Then, just as quickly, she realizes that it doesn't matter how he got here. The important thing is that he is here. Finally, she recovers her voice.

"No, I've been up for a while. I couldn't sleep. I, uh, do you want to come in? I'll put coffee on."

Jack smiles at her, clearly relieved. The entire way over to her apartment, Jack had been scared she'd shut the door in his face, or tell him to go to hell, or worse. He'd spoken to Martin shortly after Samantha had woken up in the hospital, and Martin had mentioned that when Samantha had asked for his phone, she'd given him a look so fierce that Martin had been afraid she'd tear him apart if he didn't relinquish it. Jack had laughed about that, until he realized Martin wasn't laughing with him. Martin had only given him a slightly disappointed look, shook his head, and walked away. Now, looking at Samantha's face, seeing the mixed emotions there, he realized why Martin had looked at him that way. He was determined not to screw this up; not when he had another chance.

"Thanks, I'd like that."

Samantha opens the door wider, stepping back to let Jack in.

"How's your leg? I asked everyone else, but no one will tell me."

"It's okay. I'm going to need to cane for a while, but I'll heal. I'm tough."

"Yeah, you are."

There is hesitation between them now; only the sounds of coffee brewing and mugs being taken down keep the kitchen from being completely silent. Neither of them really knows how to bring up the issue. After what seems like hours, Jack speaks.

"Listen, Sam, I think we should talk..."