Summary: The first OT3 story ever written back in September 2013. Rosemary deals with the knowledge that her husband is cheating on her with another man. Yaoi/slash.

Rating: T

Genre(s): Angst/Romance

"I have to do this. Rose would understand."

No, she did not understand. But she accepted it. Because would could she do other than accept her husband's decision? It was one of her greatest defining traits. So she swallowed her protests and nodded when Jack left for Maverick.

She had long since accepted the fact that her husband was fooling around with another man on his long business trips away from home. She was so accepting, or maybe it was because of her background in psychiatry? Men had needs, some physical, some emotional. It was natural that Jack succumbed to his demons under intense stress. The reality remained that Jack was gone for a long stretch of time.

Jack was quick to blurt out everything that hadn't gone on between them: they never actually had sex. They just messed around some scattered nights. She could imagine it in her head: quick, rough grinding in the dark, biting and panting.

But this relationship with Sam was more than one of pure intimacy. Sam provided Jack with something she couldn't. There was some visible degree of tension eased from her husband's shoulders when the Brazilian was around, an invisible guard that was let down. Sam was an outlet for Jack.

It was a companionship she could never fundamentally provide.

No matter how deeply she bonded with her husband, she was still a civilian. She was a delicate rose that had to be protected, shielded from the harsh truths. There was some part of Jack that would always be afraid of sullying her pure hands. It was a barrier that existed solely in his mind, a mental block he couldn't—wouldn't break through.

But Sam…Sam didn't need to be protected. Sam could take it: all of Jack's ugliness. So Jack opened up to him and Sam swallowed it and digested it. Sam had never been in war, never grew up on the battlefield as a skinny white boy in a war-torn African country, mind-fucked from gunpowder, cocaine, and Hollywood—but Sam had been waist-deep in bodies before, knew what it was like to have killed—not only as a soldier, but as a man.

She'd imagined the feeling to be reassuring for Jack, knowing there was another individual in the world just like him, encompassing all the traits he identified with—someone who had killed (murdered) with all the sadistic high of a psychopath, who had witnessed all the gritty, gory insides of a human body from cleaving one open, the entrails and internal organs, and who was also good—good—because that's what it boiled down to. Bloodthirsty psychopaths were a dime a dozen, but they had lost their mind—there were few who still had some moral fiber in their being. Sam was a beacon for Jack, reminding him that yes, it was okay to kill, to slaughter, and to like it—because that isn't only who we are, it is a part of us, but not all of us; we are not merely murderers—there were people out there like him, and that he was not the only one, and that mere knowledge alone was enough to regain some spark of his humanity.

Rose couldn't begin to compare.

It drove her up the wall. She wanted to hack into their communication lines. Retrieve hours of codec calls. (What were they talking about? What was Jack doing behind her back?) It was suffocating, knowing that she wasn't enough for Jack, that she alone couldn't complete him—that Jack required someone else to feel whole.

Their entire marriage was a lie, their relationship a comedy of errors. She was being relegated to a third wheel. Jack wanted a family and a lover on the side.

…Some days, while Rose was dusting the furniture or shifting through her patients' files, she came to the vague realization that perhaps she deserved this. After all she had done, it was the least she could provide Jack with. She would compromise her own happiness just so Jack could feel a little better. That's what love was all about, right? Wanting the best for your partner. Averaging your misery.

Other women would have divorced their cheating homo husband in an instant, but Rose loved Jack, so she swallowed her emotions and made sacrifices. Even if it weren't for Jack, then for little John. She wasn't selfish enough to leave her son. John was the scotch tape and Elmer's glue that held the family together and neither her nor her husband would ever be selfish enough to break him.

Rose was shaking as she put down a set of ground rules.

"Never mention this in front of John. Never. Not now, not when he's 13, not when turns into an adult. I don't want my son knowing that his father—" It was then she realized her voice was too high, so she lowered it. Back to normal. There's no love lost.

She took a breath and edged a glare at Sam. "He doesn't step foot onto our property."

Hiding her emotions under a fierce glare, she waited for the two men to leave so that the rest of her brave face could crumble and fall.

Within 24 hours, Sam had already broken one of the rules. The bastard just sauntered up to her front door and knocked.

"Senhora. A word, if you may? I will make it short."

She stood in the doorframe, basking in the shadow cast by Sam's broad figure. He hung his head and focused on Rose's slippers as he spoke.

"Nobody is asking you to accept something so unfair. If you want this to stop, I will stop. I will ask for a transfer to another locale. Neither you nor Jack will ever have to see or hear from me again."

What could she say? Yes, her instincts cried out, yes, leave and never come back. Rose had made compromises her entire life. There had to be a limit on the number of compromises an individual could make in a single lifetime.

"Do you love Jack?"

The answer was instantaneous. "No." A brief pause, and then, "He does not love me either, I can assure you."

She stared at him, not sure what to make of his answer. It was then she spied the look of hollowness in Sam's eyes. Rose had always been rather apt at reading people.

"Stay."

There was a glimmer of surprise in Sam's russet hues, before it was quickly masked by muted shame. He bowed his head slightly.

"Right." His voice was hoarse, throaty, and choked with emotion. "…if you ever change your mind... let me know."

Without waiting for her reply, Sam turned around and meandered away.

Rose kept a set of skills hidden in a wooden box that she buried in the backyard next to the tree. But for a situation as dire as this, she hastily dug up that box and reclaimed the skills she learned as an ex-Patriot spy.

She did research. She got in contact with Maverick; being the wife of one of their most beneficial employees really helped. They were confused, but not exactly unwilling to disclose Sam's personal information file to her. There wasn't much on him to begin with. Aside from a long list of battlefield achievements, his entire 30-some-years history barely reached a paragraph's length. No living family; no spouse or kids.

From his file, she was able to weave together a psychological profile of Samuel Rodrigues. He was a vagabond, a wanderer. Sam had mental restraints of his own. He was afraid to get attached. Whatever he felt towards Jack meant nothing in the face of his own instinctual urge to detach himself from being emotionally involved with another human being.

Rose had a savior complex; she would be the first one to admit that of herself. One of the reasons why she was even drawn to Jack at the very beginning was out of some childish fantasy she could fix him. So it was only natural for those tight creases to relax when she discovered how broken Sam was as well.

The quasi-restraining order limiting the Brazilian's proximity with their house was eventually lifted a little by little over the next couple of months, much to Jack's and Sam's surprise.

As she had expected, John quickly grew infatuated with "Uncle" Sam. It was the first time dad had brought a friend from work—or from anywhere, for that matter. Jack often threw around the word "friends" and name-dropped references, but the reality was he had no real friends. Human or cyborg, Jack's closest platonic companions were all younger than him by three decades… until Sam came along. One could delve into deep observations about what they meant in regards to Jack's psychological standing, but that sort of meta-commentary was for another day.

"Are you a cyborg ninja too?"

Laughter. "I'd like to think myself more as a cyborg samurai, to be honest."

…Sam proved to have great rapport with little John.

And Sam was always polite with her. It wasn't an artificial type of politeness; it was genuine, crude, and awkward almost. He skulked around her like a kicked puppy, passive to her silent anger and icy, scrutinizing stare. She had lashed out at him in the beginning, and he took it without resistance. Her hatred eventually grew into cool indifference and then shifted totally into the realm of neutrality to the point where she became so accustomed to Sam being in her husband's life it became second nature.

But in the end, it wasn't about how good of a person Sam was. It was about Jack and how Sam was good for Jack. It was always about Jack.

Sam stayed because of Jack.

She had only seen it once. Late afternoon one Tuesday, the backyard was filled with angry whispers.

(It was amazing the lengths in which Jack believed she would go for him.)

"… You can't leave. You can't fucking leave me, Rodrigues." Rage coupled with desperation drove Jack's voice to escalate into a level of hysteria. He grabbed Sam by the shirt and wretched him forward. "What makes you think I'll just let you go?"

"You'll make it without me. You've done it for the past three decades." Sam's gruff voice was choked with emotion, but he remained coldly in control and pried off Jack's hands. "Go back to your wife, Jack."

"Rose will understand!" Jack shot back as his eyes squeezed out hot, angry tears. "She'll understand why I need you."

Fresh fury flickered in Sam's eyes at those words. "That's not how it works," he snapped, "You can't compromise your family like this."

"What the hell do you know about my family?" Jack whispered fiercely.

"I know that they're everything to you. Would'll happen if you lose them because of your selfish actions?" Sam shoved the younger man back. "I can't fill the hole they'd leave in your heart."

(But she wouldn't be able to fill the hole that Sam left either. The hole in Jack's heart that was Sam-deep and Sam-wide and she was only Rosemary.)

Arguments always devolved into physical scuffles between these two, and this situation was no exception. That time-old saying about men resorting to their fists when words failed them rang true. Sam spun around to leave, only to find himself tackled to the ground no sooner than he took a step away from Jack. They became a writhing mass of tangled limbs and torsos on the grass of her backyard until all at once, Jack pressed his lips against Sam's.

"Stop–" Sam hissed, "We can't– ngh – they'll see –"

Sam's protests only fed into Jack's maddening fervor. And Jack was stronger than Sam in the current moment; Jack was a cyborg, Sam was only human. Her husband kissed Sam once again, before breaking off, his eyes brimming with a wild conflict of emotions as he slurred,

"–John doesn't need to know, Sam… and Rose already gets it. Don't underestimate her—she can handle it—-she'll understand."

"Sam—"

Frayed panting.

(love you_)

Like dying flames suddenly doused in kerosene, a fire ignited within Sam and he returned Jack's kiss, seizing the blonde's face in between cupped palms and kissing him fervently.

"Stupid—" gasping "—fool—" and then in an almost desperate growl, "—why—" Sam's fingers entwining in blond hair, Sam wretched Jack's face away and pinned him down with a dark, ravenous stare, "—why do you want me so badly? I have nothing to offer you, Jack."

"Yes, you do –"

"No, I don't." Sam pressed forward, hissing out his words between clenched teeth. "I can't give you the life you're looking for, Jack. I can't give you stability or peace. Even my companionship can be compromised at any time. Following me will only lead you to ruin."

"I don't care— It's enough."

Jack had always been self-sabotaging with his life that way.

Sam's anger slowly drained away until all that was left is heartbroken, emotional exhaustion. The Brazilian stretched his arm out and rested a hand in Jack's hair, lying disheveled and uneven from the scuffle, sections of it intersecting like overlapping waves rolling onto the shore.

"…Don't invest too much into me, Jack."

I'll leave you one day.