Author's Note: Thanks so much for the feedback. Jack and Sam are now finally going to try to talk.
Reviews keep me writing.
Sam shrugged off her thin coat as Jack closed the front door of his house. "Let me take that," he said, reaching for the coat, and she handed it to him, watching him hang it on a hook in the hallway beside his battered leather jacket. He turned to face her and simply stared at her for several seconds, before raising one eyebrow.
"So," she said, a little timidly, offering him a shy smile. She was very conscious of how near he was, and of how his chest looked in the plain white t-shirt he wore.
"So," he replied, putting his hands in the pockets of his faded jeans.
"You… must be wondering why I'm here," she said, and he tilted his head in a gesture that meant neither yes nor no. She had prepared an opening line while driving over, but it had now completely vanished from her mind. Just say something, she thought.
"Any chance of some coffee?" she asked, lamely, and immediately cringed.
The side of Jack's mouth curled up in a small lopsided grin. "Sure," he replied, turning and walking towards his kitchen, "but just so you know, there are coffee places a lot nearer your house."
She sighed under her breath, grateful for the distraction and for him not making an issue of it. She followed him through to the kitchen, stopping in the doorway. Jack was filling the coffee pot at the sink, and he glanced back over his shoulder at her.
"Don't have any to-go cups, Sam, so you might as well come in," he said, gesturing vaguely to the small dining table at one side of the room.
Her pulse quickened again. That's the second time you've called me Sam in the last ten minutes, she thought. She loved how her name sounded when he said it, and yet again she wanted to close the distance between them and reach for his hand - but nervousness kept her standing by the table, lightly bouncing on her feet.
The coffee machine was now burbling away, and Jack opened a cupboard to remove two mugs, placing them on the countertop. He took a deep breath, then turned to look at her.
Sam cleared her throat, and smiled tentatively. "I didn't mean to interrupt your stargazing," she said. "It was beautiful out there."
"Sure was," he said, meaningfully, his dark eyes boring into her. "And I like the sweater, by the way."
She felt her cheeks flush yet again, and wondered if he knew the effect he could have on her with just a word, or a look. Or a touch, she thought, remembering his hand on her back earlier in the day, and she was sure that her whole face must be bright pink by now. She managed to say "Thank you" in a small voice, looking down at the floor for a moment.
The coffee maker clicked off and the last of the steam escaped from the vent on the top. Jack paused for a few seconds, deep in thought, then turned his attention to the machine. He filled the two mugs with hot coffee, appreciating the rich and bitter aroma that filled the air, returned the carafe to its slot, and picked up the two mugs.
"Let's take these to the living room," he said, nodding towards the doorway. "Might as well be comfortable." He waited for her to go ahead of him, and they walked through to the large room at the front of his house. Jack put the mugs on the coffee table, and sat down in the middle of the couch. Sam took an armchair, a few feet away. She picked up her mug and swallowed a mouthful of coffee, noting that Jack was simply staring at his.
"I'm fine," he said suddenly, startling her. She looked over at him, but his eyes were still on the steaming mug in front of him. His voice was soft, and she thought he sounded a little sad. "You were gonna ask, for the second time today. And I'm fine."
"Oh," she replied. "I... I'm glad to hear that."
There was silence for a few seconds before she spoke again. "You disappeared at lunch. We were a little worried. I was worried."
Now he did glance up at her, searching her face for something. After a moment, he gave a half-hearted shrug. "I finished the report, and we're on downtime. I drove to a diner, then came back here."
She nodded in understanding. "OK," she said, watching him focus his attention on his coffee mug again. He looked completely withdrawn. You're not fine, she thought. You're anything but fine. And you're not going to make this easy, are you?
"I went home early too," she added after a moment, just to keep the conversation going, but he didn't reply. She sighed deeply, and waited for him to look at her. When he did, she decided to try being more direct. "You've been different for the last few weeks. Quieter."
"I'm a man of few words," he said, automatically, and she clasped her hands in her lap patiently.
"Sometimes," she replied, "but you know what I mean. I just want to help, if I can. I meant what I said before lunch. You can talk to me."
I can talk to you too damned much lately, he thought, and that's all I can do. "I know," he said.
"So why don't you?" she asked, and he could see that she was worried about his answer.
He took a deep breath and blew it out loudly, absent-mindedly running a hand through his hair and messing it up even more.
"Because... I don't know. I just need a vacation, like I said," he said. "No big deal." And if you actually buy that, you're an alien impostor, he thought wearily.
"Then why did you touch me today?" she asked quietly, seeing a startled expression appear on his face.
"Uh...," he began, unsure how to proceed. Sam was looking at him intently, but not accusingly. "I'm sorry," he said at last, unable to think of anything else to say.
"I hope you don't mean that," she said calmly. "I just wanted to know why."
Not taking no for an answer this time, huh, he thought. She usually allowed him to back off when a conversation got a little too real, and he'd tried several times so far tonight. But she knows something is different now.
"Because I'm an old fool," he said wearily. "It was a moment of weakness."
She smiled. "You're not a fool, and you're not old," she said warmly. "But now we're getting somewhere."
Jack's shoulders sank a little, and he wasn't sure whether it was from sadness or fatigue. He felt like they were having at least two conversations simultaneously, and both were dangerous.
"Getting somewhere implies there's somewhere we can go," he muttered, and she heard it.
Sam had been reaching for her coffee cup, but her hand froze in mid air and then pulled back. So there it is at last, she thought, amazed he'd been the one to bring it up first. She was suddenly acutely aware of the room around her: the furniture, the layout, the moonlight coming through the windows competing with the yellowish glow from a few table-lamps. The smell of the place, which right now was partly rich coffee, and partly just the way that Jack smelled.
After all these years, and all the moments and the maybes, they were going to have this conversation here, in this room, tonight. She felt her stomach flip-flop again.
"I've been thinking about what you asked me today," she said suddenly.
Jack looked up at her again, momentarily puzzled by the change of topic.
She read his expression effortlessly. "Wondering if I made the right choices," she clarified, and he nodded slowly.
"And?" he asked eventually, in a low and turbulent tone that sent a shiver chasing up her spine.
Sam took another quick gulp of coffee, now wishing it was something stronger, and put the mug down. "And... I think I'm happy with most of my choices," she said, watching his face carefully.
Jack's heart dropped like a stone. So that's it, then, he thought. He felt his old barriers begin to solidify again, like armour made of ice, beginning to freeze the pain and replace it with numbness.
Sam watched the change. He had been withdrawn and contemplative before, but now she saw an instant of utter dejection cross his face before his expression became perfectly neutral. Oh Jack, she thought, steeling herself to continue.
"But I regret something I wasn't allowed to choose," she said quietly, willing him to meet her eyes again. A moment later, he did, and she silently begged him to understand.
Jack looked into her vivid blue eyes and again felt the climbing ice start to shudder and crack. You can't go on like this, his mind said, but he ignored it. He wanted to speak, but he didn't trust his voice.
She was still watching his face, and his eyes looked almost completely black. She saw his vulnerability - really saw it, for the first time - and suddenly everything seemed so tragically simple. You shouldn't have to feel this way, she thought. It's not right.
She could see that he was still waiting for her to speak, and in that moment she made a decision. Her nervousness evaporated, and she stood up.
Jack watched her stand, walk around the coffee table, and sit down on the couch beside him. What are you doing? he wondered, simultaneously dreading her next words but also wretchedly unable to avoid hoping. Hope is what kills people, a distant part of his mind whispered, and he knew it was as true as it was irrelevant.
She sat down close enough for her leg to brush against his, and they both briefly glanced down at the point of contact before their eyes met again. Slowly, and gently, Sam reached out and took his hand, pulling it across onto her knee and lacing her fingers between his, feeling a powerful wave of contentment at the contact.
Jack felt her fingers curl between his, and every remaining defence shattered into a million fragments. A tidal wave of emotion buffeted him, and it was all he could do to keep his eyes locked onto their linked hands. Alright, he managed to think. Alright then. Whatever you're going to do, Sam, do it. If it's going to destroy me, then so be it.
Sam squeezed his hand gently, and his eyes slowly lifted up to meet hers. His jaw was tight, and she could feel the tension in his arm.
"I'm tired of waiting too," she said, her voice catching.
He recognised the truth of it on her face, and saw the sparkle of unshed tears in her eyes. Whatever strength he had left to resist now evaporated, and for the first time he allowed himself to really feel what she meant to him. It struck him like a hammer-blow, and he closed his eyes, gripping her hand with a panicky tightness.
He heard the barest rustle of the couch as she leaned towards him, then felt a whisper of her sweet breath against his cheek for just a moment before her lips touched his.