For Meg and the prompt: Jack/Sam and touch.


The room is bathed in soft candlelight, and the faintest scent of roses lingers in the air. The satin sheets are cool against her skin, but that is not why she shivers.

He is sitting next to her, close enough that she can feel the heat of his body, but not close enough that they are touching. She doesn't know how much longer her self-control will last. Already she aches to close the distance between them.

He smiles; this is a familiar game.

This time, she wins. He bends forward to kiss her neck, and she pulls him against her.


For Gabrielle and the prompt: Jack/Grace and water.


The water runs clean over her hands, but still she scrubs, wondering what is wrong with her, wondering why she's thinking things she has no right to.

Earlier, during the autopsy, she imagined Jack's knife tracing the path her scalpel took. For a moment the body on the table was alive, breathing, bleeding, dying and Grace wondered what Jack had felt as he cut through the flesh.

She still feels nauseous, and her hands have not stopped shaking.

He is in her head now too, and she wonders if this is the way madness lies.

And so she keeps scrubbing.