TITLE— Not Dark Yet
AUTHOR—Devanie Maxwell
RATING—PG-13 for adult themes.
CATEGORY—VRA, Jack/Samantha
SPOILERS—Post-episode for In Extremis
SUMMARY—Sometimes the right decision can be the wrong choice.
DISCLAIMER—Between CSI and WaT I've sold my soul to Jerry Bruckheimer. Yet no money's changed hands.
AUTHOR'S NOTES—This is my first Without a Trace fic. Please don't hurt me. Title and lyrics are from "Not Dark Yet" by Bob Dylan. Song can be heard at the end of the episode. This is not a songfic, however. Thanks to Eolivet for the motivation and help. I hope this isn't terribly out of character, but at this point it's hard to tell what's in character.
:)
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~
Shadows are falling and I've been here all day
It's too hot to sleep and time is running away
Feel like my soul has turned into steel
I've still got the scars that the sun didn't heal
There's not even room enough to be anywhere
It's not dark yet but it's getting there.
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~
He had killed a man today.
He hadn't fired the shot, but he couldn't fathom feeling more responsible if he had pulled the trigger himself. Protocol dictated that he give the order just as his gut screamed at him
to retract it.
Protocol won and Shamir was dead. Right decision, wrong choice.
Jack set the still untouched glass of amber liquid back into its ring of condensation. Not a drinker, he found himself at this hotel bar anyway. Now the thought of taking that first sip seemed too selfish, too self-pitying. He wondered absently if Habibi's family had
been notified. Somewhere across the world someone was learning that their brother or son had died because of coincidences, misconceptions, and a four-line handbook subsection.
There was the sound of cloth against wood as someone slid onto the stool next to his.
"You come here often?"
Nodding slightly, he wasn't surprised that she knew he'd come here. Meeting Samantha's eyes, he saw apprehension betraying her light tone. "Did you follow me?" He had left her and Vivian at the office two hours ago.
"I took a guess." Grabbing a cardboard coaster from the small pile to his right, she turned it in her hands. He recognized the action as a familiar one; she was nervous. It wasn't something that presented itself at work. Samantha was self-assured, driven. Sam had
vulnerabilities. He was seeing Sam less and less these days.
She continued, breaking his thoughts. "You were in the right, you know."
"What makes you think I don't agree?"
Rolling her eyes, she laughed. It was a mirthless sound and he knew she wasn't buying it. "He was manic. You couldn't know that he wouldn't open fire. If you hadn't made the decision you did you'd be beating yourself up for taking the risk."
Jack considered her for a moment. "You were this guy's biggest advocate. Are you saying you would have given the go-ahead?"
Turning slightly, she smiled. "Yes. And I'd probably be here…" she looked at his full glass pointedly "…not drinking like you."
He tilted his head toward the other end of the bar. "Did you want something?"
She shook her head and reached across his right arm, sliding his drink toward her. Taking a sip, she winced. "This place has gone downhill. What was this, like ten dollars a bottle?"
Shrugging, he took it back and took a tentative taste. "I think you're being generous." For the first time he noticed her attire. She had obviously gone home and changed first; her black suit had given way to a pair of simple black pants and a dark blue sweater. The material looked soft. "You didn't have to come back out here. I'm really fine."
She stared at him, her expression unreadable. "It wasn't just that. I wanted to apologize."
"Why?"
"For questioning your judgment earlier. I was out of line."
He laughed audibly, the sound disconcerting given the mood.
Samantha looked confused and maybe a bit indignant. "What?"
"I wanted to apologize to you because I didn't question my judgment."
She waited for him to continue. He didn't.
"Martin's still filling out paperwork. He'll be back tomorrow, though."
"Good." Jack had been that close to a fatal shooting. It had taken him days to get the sight and smell of the blood out of his mind, but he wondered now if perhaps this was worse. At least then he would have images to fight instead of recrimination and self-doubt.
Her voice was lower now. "What about you?"
"I don't have any paperwork to fill out."
Shaking her head, she picked at the edge of the small placard that displayed the drink specials. "That's not what I meant."
I know." He paused. "It's part of the job, Sam. We get paid to make these decisions. We're just lucky it doesn't happen more often."
"Doesn't make it any easier when it does." Her tone was almost flat, but her eyes were profiling his.
Catching on to her motive, he felt his mood improving. She was playing him against himself, eliminating his doubts by challenging his role. He didn't know if it was in gratitude or out of habit, but his fingers brushed over hers and rested there a moment before his hand returned to neutral territory.
Looking down at the polished wood, he could still sense her gaze. They sat in near silence, the only noise coming from a hockey game on the television in the opposite corner. The bartender slid the check in front of him and somewhere in the periphery of his mind he considered the waste of paper.
Reaching into his back pocket, Jack pulled out his wallet. Finding it devoid of cash, he slipped his room key on top of the check. A normal charge to the room now seemed like a gauntlet between them. He mentally counted off the seconds until he heard the question he knew was coming.
"You're staying here?"
The question was rhetorical, but he answered it anyway. "Yes." Looking out the corner of his right eye he watched as her initial conflicted expression changed into something more inscrutable.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know things were that bad."
"No better, no worse." He was sure that she was sorry. He realized with no small amount of regret that he wasn't. Someone who feared the dissolution of his marriage wouldn't have just spent the last twenty minutes with the reason for it.
One night with Samantha and he had told his wife. Trapped in a loveless marriage with a woman who resented his work versus a closer relationship with a woman who shared it. He had become physically ill with guilt until he confessed and things grew colder. Making it work for the sake of the kids was taking its toll on both of them. Still, he
distanced himself from Sam and sentenced himself to making his marriage work.
His heart had won and his marriage was over. Wrong decision, right choice.
"I better go." He broke the heavy quiet and stepped to the floor.
"Yeah." Samantha offered a weak smile. Both sets of eyes rested on the key card. It would be an easy choice, but one neither of them wanted to make. Funny how it hadn't seemed that difficult earlier, but now that his marriage was in its death throes he found himself incapable of moving toward her again.
"Thank you." He gave her a sincere smile this time as he moved toward the elevator. They stared a few moments longer.
Reaching up with her left hand, she squeezed his upper arm. "Don't beat yourself up over this."
Watching her go, Jack wondered if she was talking about Shamir or his marriage. Walking back to his room, he realized it didn't matter.
FIN
AUTHOR—Devanie Maxwell
RATING—PG-13 for adult themes.
CATEGORY—VRA, Jack/Samantha
SPOILERS—Post-episode for In Extremis
SUMMARY—Sometimes the right decision can be the wrong choice.
DISCLAIMER—Between CSI and WaT I've sold my soul to Jerry Bruckheimer. Yet no money's changed hands.
AUTHOR'S NOTES—This is my first Without a Trace fic. Please don't hurt me. Title and lyrics are from "Not Dark Yet" by Bob Dylan. Song can be heard at the end of the episode. This is not a songfic, however. Thanks to Eolivet for the motivation and help. I hope this isn't terribly out of character, but at this point it's hard to tell what's in character.
:)
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~
Shadows are falling and I've been here all day
It's too hot to sleep and time is running away
Feel like my soul has turned into steel
I've still got the scars that the sun didn't heal
There's not even room enough to be anywhere
It's not dark yet but it's getting there.
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~
He had killed a man today.
He hadn't fired the shot, but he couldn't fathom feeling more responsible if he had pulled the trigger himself. Protocol dictated that he give the order just as his gut screamed at him
to retract it.
Protocol won and Shamir was dead. Right decision, wrong choice.
Jack set the still untouched glass of amber liquid back into its ring of condensation. Not a drinker, he found himself at this hotel bar anyway. Now the thought of taking that first sip seemed too selfish, too self-pitying. He wondered absently if Habibi's family had
been notified. Somewhere across the world someone was learning that their brother or son had died because of coincidences, misconceptions, and a four-line handbook subsection.
There was the sound of cloth against wood as someone slid onto the stool next to his.
"You come here often?"
Nodding slightly, he wasn't surprised that she knew he'd come here. Meeting Samantha's eyes, he saw apprehension betraying her light tone. "Did you follow me?" He had left her and Vivian at the office two hours ago.
"I took a guess." Grabbing a cardboard coaster from the small pile to his right, she turned it in her hands. He recognized the action as a familiar one; she was nervous. It wasn't something that presented itself at work. Samantha was self-assured, driven. Sam had
vulnerabilities. He was seeing Sam less and less these days.
She continued, breaking his thoughts. "You were in the right, you know."
"What makes you think I don't agree?"
Rolling her eyes, she laughed. It was a mirthless sound and he knew she wasn't buying it. "He was manic. You couldn't know that he wouldn't open fire. If you hadn't made the decision you did you'd be beating yourself up for taking the risk."
Jack considered her for a moment. "You were this guy's biggest advocate. Are you saying you would have given the go-ahead?"
Turning slightly, she smiled. "Yes. And I'd probably be here…" she looked at his full glass pointedly "…not drinking like you."
He tilted his head toward the other end of the bar. "Did you want something?"
She shook her head and reached across his right arm, sliding his drink toward her. Taking a sip, she winced. "This place has gone downhill. What was this, like ten dollars a bottle?"
Shrugging, he took it back and took a tentative taste. "I think you're being generous." For the first time he noticed her attire. She had obviously gone home and changed first; her black suit had given way to a pair of simple black pants and a dark blue sweater. The material looked soft. "You didn't have to come back out here. I'm really fine."
She stared at him, her expression unreadable. "It wasn't just that. I wanted to apologize."
"Why?"
"For questioning your judgment earlier. I was out of line."
He laughed audibly, the sound disconcerting given the mood.
Samantha looked confused and maybe a bit indignant. "What?"
"I wanted to apologize to you because I didn't question my judgment."
She waited for him to continue. He didn't.
"Martin's still filling out paperwork. He'll be back tomorrow, though."
"Good." Jack had been that close to a fatal shooting. It had taken him days to get the sight and smell of the blood out of his mind, but he wondered now if perhaps this was worse. At least then he would have images to fight instead of recrimination and self-doubt.
Her voice was lower now. "What about you?"
"I don't have any paperwork to fill out."
Shaking her head, she picked at the edge of the small placard that displayed the drink specials. "That's not what I meant."
I know." He paused. "It's part of the job, Sam. We get paid to make these decisions. We're just lucky it doesn't happen more often."
"Doesn't make it any easier when it does." Her tone was almost flat, but her eyes were profiling his.
Catching on to her motive, he felt his mood improving. She was playing him against himself, eliminating his doubts by challenging his role. He didn't know if it was in gratitude or out of habit, but his fingers brushed over hers and rested there a moment before his hand returned to neutral territory.
Looking down at the polished wood, he could still sense her gaze. They sat in near silence, the only noise coming from a hockey game on the television in the opposite corner. The bartender slid the check in front of him and somewhere in the periphery of his mind he considered the waste of paper.
Reaching into his back pocket, Jack pulled out his wallet. Finding it devoid of cash, he slipped his room key on top of the check. A normal charge to the room now seemed like a gauntlet between them. He mentally counted off the seconds until he heard the question he knew was coming.
"You're staying here?"
The question was rhetorical, but he answered it anyway. "Yes." Looking out the corner of his right eye he watched as her initial conflicted expression changed into something more inscrutable.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know things were that bad."
"No better, no worse." He was sure that she was sorry. He realized with no small amount of regret that he wasn't. Someone who feared the dissolution of his marriage wouldn't have just spent the last twenty minutes with the reason for it.
One night with Samantha and he had told his wife. Trapped in a loveless marriage with a woman who resented his work versus a closer relationship with a woman who shared it. He had become physically ill with guilt until he confessed and things grew colder. Making it work for the sake of the kids was taking its toll on both of them. Still, he
distanced himself from Sam and sentenced himself to making his marriage work.
His heart had won and his marriage was over. Wrong decision, right choice.
"I better go." He broke the heavy quiet and stepped to the floor.
"Yeah." Samantha offered a weak smile. Both sets of eyes rested on the key card. It would be an easy choice, but one neither of them wanted to make. Funny how it hadn't seemed that difficult earlier, but now that his marriage was in its death throes he found himself incapable of moving toward her again.
"Thank you." He gave her a sincere smile this time as he moved toward the elevator. They stared a few moments longer.
Reaching up with her left hand, she squeezed his upper arm. "Don't beat yourself up over this."
Watching her go, Jack wondered if she was talking about Shamir or his marriage. Walking back to his room, he realized it didn't matter.
FIN