A/N: While writing this chapter, I learned that Jack's wife is actually Maria, not Marie, as is in the last chapter. Rather than take it down and change it, I'm leaving it how it is. I promise to get her name correct in my next story.

*****

"Listen, Sam, I think we need to talk..."

Samantha won't turn around. She isn't ready to meet his eyes yet. Instead, she concentrates on pouring his coffee; her hands are trembling, and she doesn't think second-degree burns will improve the situation.

"Yeah, I think we should."

Now she turns to him. Hands him his coffee, black, in her second-favourite mug, the one he always uses when he comes over. Smiling a little, she sees that Jack hasn't moved. He is standing just inside the kitchen, one hand on the back of the chair where she always drops her coat when she comes home from work. Every time Jack would come home with her to discuss a case, or for a quick dinner before heading back to Maria, he would stand there, running his hand over her coat like it was some magical talisman, like if he touched it enough, everything would turn out for the better. Now the coat was in her hall closet; she hasn't needed it in five weeks.

"You can sit down, you know. That chair won't break."

Jack looks at her, sheepishly. He is caught between wanting everything to be the same as it was, knowing that everything had changed, and not knowing how to amend either situation. Deciding to let Samantha call the shots, he sits, keeping his hands curled around the mug. Samantha sits down at the other end of the table, not next to him, as he had expected her to. Then he remembers- the rules are different now; or maybe the rules are the same, and Samantha is different. Jack isn't sure. But when she rests her leg on the chair next to him, things become clearer. Not much clearer, but it helps.

"So, you'll be coming back to work in, what? A week and a half?"

"Yeah.  The first week or so, I'll be staying around the office; I'm not ready to go back out in the field yet."

"Physically or mentally?"

Damn. She had known that question would come up, but hadn't expected it first off.

"I won't be running a marathon anytime soon, but I'll be back in the field in less than a month, okay?"

Jack shakes his head. He knew he'd never get a straight answer from her; she won't allow it. Still, he is going to keep trying until he got one.

"Uh-huh. How are you emotionally, though?"

"You've been getting my psych reports. Didn't you read them? "

"Yeah, I read them. But a couple of pages every week doesn't really tell me what I want to know."

The reports were all the same: Refusal to discuss incident. Every week, the pages crossed his desk and every week he read them, hoping this week would be different. They never were. Each week, Samantha went into the office, told the doctor, "I'm fine. Really. I'm okay. I'll see you next Tuesday at 3." Anyone who really knew her shouldn't have been surprised by that.

" I'm fine, Jack. A little trouble sleeping, my leg itches like crazy, and I'm bored silly not being at work. But that's it. Really. I'm okay."

Samantha still won't look him in the eye. She's afraid that if she does, she'll have to admit the truth to him. She isn't sure she can do that yet; she's having a hard enough time admitting it to herself. She keeps thinking that the longer she puts it off and doesn't deal with it, that it just might go away.

"Bullshit."

Jack stares at her, challenging her to meet his eyes. He wants her to tell him the truth, not just what she wants him to hear. He can't stand being shut out like this, especially by Samantha; that hurts him more than he can stand. She refuses to look at him. Instead, she stands up and takes her mug to the sink. It's still mostly full, but she dumps it anyway; it allows her just a little more time with her back to him.

"Jack, please don't..."

She trails off, not really knowing what she had planned to say. Whatever it was, it wouldn't have been the truth. She walks out into the living room, feeling too confined in the small kitchen. Jack follows her, not willing to give up until he gets his answers.

"Don't what? Be concerned about you? It's a little late for that. I just want to know what is going on."

Samantha turns around suddenly. She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come. She looks around the room as if the answers might be written on the wall, then she sits on the couch, curling her body into the corner. When Jack sees her take the blanket down off the back and pull it around her shoulders, he only sits at the other end of the couch and waits. Both his girls used to do the same thing when they were little and they saw monsters in the closet or under the bed. Sooner or later, he knows, the monsters go away.

"It's okay, Sam. "

Her eyes fill with tears, and she wipes them away using a blanket corner. It nearly breaks Jack's heart; she looks so young, vulnerable, and scared.

"No, it isn't okay, Jack! You don't understand, it isn't supposed to be like this!"

He reaches out and brushes her hair back off her face. A simple gesture, but it works. Jack can almost feel her crumble under his touch. Her words come out in a rush, so fast it's almost impossible to tell where each word ends and the next begins.

"He shot me, and you left, Martin said you went back inside, and I didn't know if you were okay, then I woke up and everyone else was there but you, and I was scared you were dead, and I called you, you never called back, I didn't know what to think when you weren't there, you left me those roses, God, Jack, he shot me with my own damn gun, and nothing makes sense anymore, I feel like everything is falling down again, I was so scared, Jack, why does it feel like everything is falling apart?"

She punctuates this sentence by bursting into harsh sobs. The only thing Jack can do is take her in his arms and hold her until the storm passes.

After what feels like days, it does.

"Do you feel any better now, Sam?"

She doesn't answer. Jack pulls away from her just enough to look at her face. Samantha has fallen asleep. Her chest is rising and falling rhythmically; her eyelids, he sees, are the translucent purple of the truly exhausted.  Rather than risk waking her, Jack simply pulls the blanket over them both and lies back. He doesn't want Samantha to wake up alone this time. He hopes Maria will understand.

After some time, lulled by Samantha's deep, even breathing, Jack sleeps.

~FIN~