A/N-- Many thanks to M for the always amazing beta. Continued love to Maple Street for being the best forum out there. You all rock!

Continued from chapter three.

Chapter Four:

Jack didn't miss her the first week.

It wasn't as though he was trying to put her out of his mind; it was just hard to notice her absence when her signature was on nearly every document and her nameplate still sat on the edge of her desk. She hadn't taken it when she had left and no one had seen fit to remove it. It was unspoken, but he doubted anyone wanted to be the one to discard the last physical reminder of Samantha that still existed in the office.

In the second week her replacement arrived. Melissa Armstrong, 37, from Hartford, Connecticut. Physically and emotionally different from Samantha in every way, and he wondered if subconsciously he had made that choice intentionally. Soon, her name replaced Samantha's on files and she was the one he would see during an interview when he'd look over to meet Sam's eyes out of habit. Melissa had been the one to place Samantha's nameplate in the box that first morning. He supposed it was then that he started to miss her.

He tried hard to keep that from the others. After all, they all missed Samantha in some capacity. She and Vivian had never been very close, but they worked extremely well together. Danny was probably the closest thing she had to a real friend in New York. She and Martin had butted heads in the beginning, but respect grew over time. He had also noticed that Martin seemed to harbor some feelings for her; Jack wondered if she was even aware.

The harder Jack had tried to maintain his professionalism, however, the harder the team seemed to look for cracks in the facade.

It had been a normal meeting, the five of them sitting around the table discussing a timeframe when Martin and Danny's debate over a discrepancy increased in volume, if not in substance. A warning, then two, and then Jack had come out of his chair. Danny looked surprised, Melissa looked uncomfortable, and Vivian looked as though she knew exactly what was behind his minor explosion. It wasn't an unprecedented outburst, but an atypical one for the situation. There was irony in that he wished he could blame his outburst on Samantha's departure. The truth was he was just tired.

Tired of working 17 hour days and then going home and working on his marriage. Tired of interrogating suspects only to go home and get interrogated by his wife. He had told Marie about the 'change' in the office and while her face was unreadable, he thought he might have seen a small smile emerge. He couldn't blame her for that, but he wanted to. So, maybe in that respect he could attribute his change in attitude to Samantha.

Not to missing her, but not being able to miss her.

It was week three when he started sleeping on the couch.

He hadn't had a particularly bad day, nor had he had an argument with Marie. It was just that all of a sudden he couldn't fathom making the trip up the stairs to their bedroom. He told himself he was just tired, that he needed one night to himself after 47 nights with her. The reality of it was that after living a lie for so long, he was starting to question which lie was the truth.

He had started sharing Marie's bed again out of a sense of duty and a real desire to make it work. The incident with Barry Mashburn had instilled a sense of purpose of sorts, a sense that was challenged by his wife's less than receptive reaction to his homecoming. Kate-- and later, Hanna-- had been thrilled to have their father back, and despite Marie's skepticism, she had been motivated to try to live as they had before the marriage had started to crumble.

In those weeks they had sex one time, and it was one of the most physically cold experiences of Jack's life. You could fake reconciliation, but it was becoming clear that you couldn't fake feeling.

You also couldn't hide feeling, which is why he was sitting across from Marie at the kitchen table, their breakfasts sitting untouched as she stared at the wall behind his head.

"I don't know what else to say. I came home late and didn't want to wake you. The couch was there." The words seemed familiar even as he said them.

Shaking her head, she finally looked at him. "This is how is started before, Jack. We make an concerted effort to make this work and soon you end up sleeping downstairs. Or at the office or anywhere else other than the one place you should be. Hanna found you this morning. How do you think that makes her feel?"

Shit. That prospect had never even occurred to him. He tried to come up with a response--any response--but was cut off.

"The girls have had enough turmoil in their lives this year without constantly having to wonder if their father will be living at home any given week. It's unfair to them." Stabbing at a piece of cantaloupe with her fork, she continued. "It's unfair to me."

"I know. I'm sorry." It sounded weak, but it was at least true.

They ate in silence before Marie stood to clear the plates. Placing them in the sink, her back was to him before she spoke again. "It's not someone else again, is it?"

The words hit him like a physical blow, but he kept his voice level. "No."

"Because I know she's somewhere else now, but it's awfully hard to trust you given your history." She practically spit the last word.

"There's no one else."

A dish hit the bottom of the sink hard. "You can't blame me for being suspicious. You slept with your subordinate for the better part of a year while I sat at home wondering if you were working too hard."

How many times could he say he was sorry and still mean it? "She's gone, Marie. Hundreds of miles away. I haven't even spoken to her on the phone."

"Who's next? An office assistant? That new agent? Someone in the mailroom?"

From all the complications that had arisen out of the affair, the answer to her question was probably the biggest. His relationship with Samantha hadn't began because he was seeking out meaningless sex with the closest woman he could find, or a physical outlet from the stress of the job. The first night wasn't meant to be an escape from his marriage; perhaps then he wouldn't feel the pervasive guilt he had lived with for so many months. His feelings for Samantha had transcended his feelings for his wife, and that was one truth he simply couldn't tell.

"Yeah, someone in the mailroom." Pushing back in his chair hard, he rose to his feet. "I'll be at work."

Minutes later, he slammed the door on his way out.

Work seemed interminable that day. Interviews, leads, and filings punctuated by pages he ignored. While he couldn't find a reason to be angry with Marie over the insinuations she'd made that morning, he couldn't find a reason not to be. It was selfish, but over the last few weeks he had found himself lapsing deeper and deeper into self-pity mode. Samantha leaving was the proverbial straw, but it had been building since the Samir case. He found himself losing sight of why he had ever taken the job in the first place. Wondering if he should allow himself to be happy despite ruining the lives of everyone around him. It had taken its toll, loving Samantha at the expense of Marie. Being with Marie because he had sacrificed Samantha.

And that was probably the biggest irony of them all. Both of his lives--the lives he had juggled for over a year-- were destroying each other.

Vivian entered and he started. "Sorry. I didn't hear you knock."

Smiling, she took a seat across from his desk. "Probably because I didn't."

He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What's up?"

"Just talked to an Agent Waxman down at headquarters. Apparently our guy is out of our hands. There not even sure he's in the country anymore, so I guess we're just in a holding pattern. I told him we'd fax our reports down there this afternoon."

"Thanks."

"What's the new assignment?"

Looking at his desktop, he sighed. "I'm still correlating all that. I'll be out in a few minutes."

Vivian had never seen Jack as distracted as he had been over the last several weeks. "Okay."

He nodded and opened a file sitting to his right. Thumbing through the pages, he heard her open the door before speaking. "Oh, by the way...Danny talked to Samantha this afternoon."

Willing his eyes not to betray him, he affected a look of mild interest. "How is she?"

"She said the job's going well and that Washington is a nice city."

"Good."

She tried another tack. "She's also very lonely."

"I'm sure someone like Samantha won't have any trouble meeting people."

"Jack."

He nodded toward the door. "I really have to get started on this, so if there's nothing else..."

The door closed behind her and he willed himself to think of anything else. Anyone else but the woman that was occupying more and more of his thoughts as the hours went on. He needed to call his wife to apologize for what had taken place that morning, to not waste a second chance over six hours of sleep on a hard couch. He needed to start work on this case, to be the leader he hadn't been for quite some time.

Instead he opened the drawer to his left and removed the menu for China King on 53rd. The blue ink was slightly blurred from the week it had spent in his trench coat pocket, but Samantha's scrawl was still legible.

Their relationship was over, he reminded himself as he picked up the phone. There wasn't anything illicit in a boss calling to check on how a former employee was doing, he justified as it rang once, then twice. On the fourth ring the machine picked up and he heard her voice for the first time in weeks.

He left a message with a number only she would recognize.

Now he could only wait.

TBC