Author: $haniqua (Jeanne)
Disclaimer: Still on the wish list...
Summary: Do you ever think of me anymore?
Author's Note: Song is titled Do You by Neyo.
Maybe this decision was a mistake.
You probably don't care what I have to say.
But it's been heavy on my mind for months now.
Guess I'm trying to clear some mental space.
He was an old man. No doubts about it. He was reaching his early fifties and the fact that he still had nobody to come home to at night was a little depressing. He was no longer a New Yorker and that made it much harder to be comforted by the city noises at night. Instead, he had moved to Chicago, where his girls and his ex-wife was living stably.
Loosing the child he never got to have with Anne awoke him from the dream world he called life. He realized—weird how it was—that a life, though innocent could be taken instantly without warning. It was weird how it was only now that he has realizing that. He worked for Missing Persons for goodness sakes! It was a unit where people were just disappearing and the blink of an eye! He guessed it had something to do with actually happening to him. Added to the fact that his father had recently died. It was something he needed to do. Be with his family, no matter how much they didn't want him. At least now his times were nine to five, and he got to spend more time with his girls when his ex-wife was doing whatever it was she was doing with his life.
He looked at the last picture of them as a team. Danny, Elena, Him, Vivian, Martin and Samantha. They all were looking at the camera. He silently cursed himself for not being next to Samantha in the picture. But how could he? She had been avoiding him at all costs. At least that's how it seemed like to him. In all honesty, she was just busy with her new—again—relationship with Martin. They had tried again, and he now didn't know if the reason he left was because he needed to be close to his girls, or that he couldn't stand the young love, the hungry and loving stares and the damn flirty banter that Samantha had with Martin. He should have never let her go the second time. If only he knew that he and Maria would end up divorced and separated anyway, he would never have broken it up with her the second time around. Then maybe they would be living together happily. Maybe he would be the one making her happy instead of the Fitzgerald.
I would love to talk to you in person.
But I understand why that can't be.
I'll leave you alone for good I promise.
If you answer this one question for me.
He picked up the phone and scrolled through the names of his phonebook stopping at one name. Samantha Spade. Like many days since he has moved, we was tempted to press the call button and let it ring. All he needed was to hear her voice again. He was scared that he had already forgotten her angelic voice. Tonight was unlike any other though. The temptation was too strong tonight. He pressed call. He half expected Martin to be the one to answer her phone. I was late at night already. They'd be snuggled up together—a picture he didn't need in his mind.
"Spade," It was her. Thank God. "Jack, I would appreciate it if you actually say something."
He swallowed the lump in his throat and held back the urge to just say "I love you". He couldn't do that. Not to her. She deserved someone better than him. She deserved the man who she was with at that moment. He would make her happy. Everyone knew that. He was perfect, and didn't have as much baggage that he had.
"Hey Samantha. How's it going?"
"It's going great. Work's been work, life's been life. How are you?"
What was he suppose to say now? He's fine but he misses New York, her more than anything or anyone? He wasn't fine, because he was miserable here in Chicago? That he thought of her more than he should? There were so many things to say, yet he couldn't say it. How could he? As far as he remembered, it was his fault that he was in that position and not in her arms tonight. His fault.
"Jack, are you still there?"
"Yeah, sorry. I was just… Off somewhere, I'm great, I'm adjusting. Still. But I'm great."
"That's good. Listen, I have to go. I have work tomorrow. "
"Say hello to everyone for me okay?"
"Sure thing boss."
"One more thing," he said. He wouldn't' sleep tonight if he didn't ask her.
"Yeah?"
"Do you," he paused. " Do you ever think? About you and… about us?"
But it was too late. The busy tone was all he heard as a reply.
I just wonder,
Do you ever,
Think of me,
Anymore, do you?
First off let me say congratulations.
Heard that you just had a baby girl.
If she looks anything like her mother,
She's the prettiest thing in the world.
He heard about her giving birth. Heard it through the FBI grapevine as "Deputy Director's first grandchildren." Grandchildren. She had given birth to twins, a boy, and a girl. He heard the little boy looked like a spitting image of "Deputy Director Jr." and the girl, well, the blonde hair and the brown eyes from her mother. Truth be told, he was hurt. Maybe a little more than the fact he wasn't the one who fathered her children but the fact that she didn't even tell him. He was still her friend right?
So on another late night, laying in bed, he looked up at the ceiling and imagined her. Imagined her holding a baby girl in her arms. One that looked like a mini her. Beautiful from head to toe. The blonde hair, the captivating hazel eyes. It made him regret even more "dumping her like garbage" as Viv had put it.
Swear that I'm not tryin' to start no trouble.
Tell your fiancé he can relax.
I'll leave you alone for good I promise,
There's a question I just gotta ask.
"Spade," she answered after the third ring. He inhaled a big chunk of air preparing to talk. To her.
"Hey, it's me," he said. He knew that she knew who 'me' was.
"Oh, hi?"
"I just called to congratulate you, with the baby and all."
"Oh, uhn… thanks, I guess," she replied unsure.
Then, silence.
He could hear the hustle and bustle of the surroundings behind her and the voice of the man she choose. The voice that made him want to puke. He was a nice man, presentable and over all perfect. That's why when he saw his affection for the same woman that he was after, he could almost smell the victory of the other man. Could almost sense his pride in being that one. Her one. The one that won her over, for good. The man who fathered her child. The man who promised that he would take care of her and do her no harm. How was he suppose to compete with that? How was he suppose to say "pick me, choose me, love me," when there wasn't anything to choose from. When she had already chosen all those years ago.
But no matter how much he knew that he didn't have a chance. Just like Pandora's Box, there was still a tiny bit of hope left in him.
"Hey Sam--antha?" he asked. He had no right to call her Sam, not anymore.
"Yeah?"
I know what we have is dead and gone.
Too many times I made you cry.
And I don't mean to interrupt your life.
I just wonder do I ever cross your mind?
He paused. Should he? Should he not? If only he could come to the conclusion that would result in him not staring at the ceiling for weeks to come -- months to come until he gets the courage to ask her. Which would most likely be never. The phase "it's now or never" comes into his mind.
"Jack? I gotta go."
"Oh, uhm do you think about…"
"Do I think about what?" Samantha asked rushing. "Look Jack, I'm sorry. I really have to go."
He sighed and put the phone down. Maybe it's better that he doesn't know.
I just wonder,
Do you ever,
Think of me,
Anymore, do you?