Jack tries to convince himself that he comes to Sam's apartment for the view...
# 2 - Delusions
Rating:
K+
Spoilers:
none
Genre:
angst
Timeline
& setting:
Sam's apartment, during their affair.
Sometimes, he lies awake in the early hours of morning, watching her sleep as the first lights of dawn bath the room in a warm hue. Sometimes he stays there, arms wrapped around her still form, content to simply listen to her steady breathing against his chest, reveling in the feeling of her body curled up against him, so easily, so naturally.
Sometimes he lets his thoughts drift past her shoulders, through the curtains and outside, reminding himself that it's what he comes here for− the unique view from her window, the perfect alignment of buildings standing in the clearing mist. He loves the pool of darkness, the halo of light, the silence and stillness, and the feeling of quietude that encompasses all in the early hours of morning. He's a part of this city, buzzing, vibrant, alive, splendid in ways he can't even describe, delicate and fractured so deeply that cracks run through its core, like scars, like veins.
Sometimes she stirs, her eyelids fluttering in the dim light, and he closes his eyes, pretending, faking to be asleep, breathing slowly as he forces his heart to beat in a regular rhythm, feeling her arms around him, touching him, needing him, loving him.
Mostly, he thinks of the way they complete each other, of their story, so real, so simple, of a man and a woman who smiled at each other one night and fell in love the next. He thinks of their relationship, affair, fling, this thing that they have, a thing that isn't just a thing and that's why giving it a name is as futile as trying to change their feelings for each other. He thinks of why he should let her go, why he can't let her go, why it is that gentle touches and looks and whispers are enough to hold them together.
Sometimes he replays recent memories in his mind, of a case, a conversation, an evening, hearing her whispering his name, one word on her lips that means more to him than she could ever know. Then he feels her shifting against him as she wakes up, comfortable, and he opens his eyes once more, seeking out the view from the window, the one he knows by heart− the buildings, the clouds, the sunlight chasing away the lingering darkness, everything so perfectly similar to the last time he was here.
"Jack?"
His eyes leave the window and find her face, the contour of her lips, her gaze. It's there again, the whisper, the name, the prayer, her vow. He moves his arm slightly, lets his hand brush against the back of her head, holding her against him, unwilling to move, afraid that if he does, the sky will fall and he won't see the streets again, the buildings, his city. His eyes begin their dance between the window and the bed, the sky and her body, outside, inside, as he hesitates to set his gaze on her, unsure of what it will mean if he stops lying to himself, stops pretending he's only here for the view.
He turns to look at her, sad and beautiful and fragile, like this city, falling and bleeding and hanging on to slivers of hope, of light, of life. At times, he wishes they could melt into its background, share fantasies and a lifetime away from the shards of reality and the splinters of truth that remind them of who they are.
"Are you okay?"
Sometimes he closes his eyes for the briefest of instants, opening them to see concern in her gaze as her fingers brush lightly against his face, his skin, with a tenderness he doesn't remember having experienced before. Sometimes he kisses her instead, feeling her relax in his arms as reality leaves for a moment, an eternity, forgetting them.
It's the view he comes here for, so he rolls out of bed, barefoot on the cold carpet, stumbling to the window, craving the familiar sight, needing to see beyond the glass panels, beyond the lies and disillusions. With trembling hands, he moves the curtains aside, oblivious to her eyes on his back, and he stares outside, far, far away from the realms of reality and time.
He hears her voice, soft, worried, asking uncertainly if something's wrong, but at least now she's touching him again, holding him. His arms encircle her as they float together to the world they've created to be inseparable, over and above the kingdom of steel and concrete at their feet, the entity breathing and moving with them and around them, their sanctuary, their prison.
"I wish we could save them all, Sam."
Sometimes they hold on to each other like that, breathing together, falling together, sharing a fading dream.
/ End of Delusions