Title: Paintings in Yellow
Pairing: Jack/Sam
Rating: T
Word count: 560
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: She'd never be enough for him.
He found her painting her toenails on her bed.
The red color stood in sharp contrast to the pale skin of her lean feet, and even more so to the white sheets. He knocked softly on the doorframe when she didn't seem to notice him.
"I didn't think you'd keep it," he said when she looked up at him, holding up his navy blue FBI sweater.
Sam shrugged, returning to the task at hand. "I couldn't just throw it away, could I?"
(She'd thought about it twice; once when he'd told her it was over, and again when she'd started sleeping with Martin.)
A lifted shoulder was his only reaction.
(Every time, the ghost of his familiar scent had stopped her.)
The white sheets rustled when she shifted from one foot to the other, considering painting her fingernails too. "Is there anything else?"
Jack swallowed, then cleared his throat. "No." He still made no effort to leave.
"Okay."
So he watched her paint nail after nail for a while, the bedside lamp the only light source in the room. Her face appeared even paler than usually. He wondered if it was his fault. Probably it was.
He felt drawn to her, but his legs just wouldn't move him forward. Or backwards, out of her room, her apartment, the house. Out of this situation.
For a second he pictured time running backwards, things happening again, only in reversed order. At their first kiss (inside the elevator, and he could still feel the warmth of her body pressed against his) he stopped the blurry movie and shook his head once. The collar of his shirt scraped over his skin.
(Not again.)
"Are you happy?" he asked suddenly.
"Jack…"
"Are you happy?" he repeated, more insistent this time. The blue sweater fell to the floor.
'Yes,' she tried to say (lie), 'Yes, I am,' but the truth slipped off her tongue anyway. "No." Brush still in one hand, she nervously watched him come closer.
The bed creaked when Jack sat down next to her, and she felt herself be drawn towards him.
"You deserve to be," he told her softly, face serious, gaze lingering on her eyes. "You deserve happiness."
Sam just stared at him, incredulously, and felt laughter boil up from the pit of her stomach. She suppressed it bravely. Wondered if she was dreaming.
Slowly, Jack lifted his hand, reaching up to caress her cheek. The dim light of the bedside lamp accentuated the deep lines on his face.
Unconsciously, Sam leaned into his warm touch. "This is never going to work out, Jack," she whispered exasperatedly. 'I'll never be enough for you,' she added mentally He was staring at her lips pensively, and she had to close her eyes against the fire in his gaze. She tried not to gasp when he ran his thumb over her lips, but failed.
He opened his mouth as if to say something, then decided against it. Instead, he leaned forward, causing the mattress to dip more, and Sam to move in his direction. His breath smelled of peppermint.
There was nothing he wanted more than to kiss her.
"Jack, you'll get nail polish onto the sheets," she protested weakly when he pulled her against him.
He captured her lips with his anyway. Nail polish on the sheets was the least of his problems.