A/N: Thanks to M, as always, for the wonderful beta and enthusiasm, and to B for helping me through a horrible block. Maple Street, you rock so hard it must hurt. Much love to you all!
Continued from chapter seven.
Chapter Eight:
Driving east, the sun was just beginning to rise as Jack drove through a small residential neighborhood. Reaching blindly for the glove compartment, he felt the frames of his sunglasses press into his palm. "Thanks."
"It's a little early to schedule an interview, isn't it?" Vivian lowered the visor and took another sip of coffee.
"Not when the interviewee works the night shift. Don't you like the sunrise?"
"You're chipper this morning."
"I'm chipper every morning."
"Apparently I just don't get to work early enough."
He tilted his head slightly. "Apparently not."
"Does this have anything to do with Samantha?"
"You don't waste any time getting to the point."
She nodded and he waited a few seconds to continue. "Have you been keeping tabs on me?"
"Three trips to DC as in many weeks. Somebody has to be."
Sighing, he pulled into the driveway of a two-story Tudor. "Some might consider that an invasion of privacy."
"Do you think the requisitions file themselves?"
"Then if you read them you know my reasons for going."
"Yes." She unbuckled her seat belt and opened the door. "The official ones, at least."
Staring ahead, he spoke in an even tone. "What makes you think there are unofficial reasons?"
Vivian looked down at her lap. "Jack, you know I don't want to pry into your personal business..."
"Has that ever stopped you before?"
"How is Samantha?"
He removed his hand from the door handle. "She's doing well. Still getting acclimated, I think. Better this last time."
She was looking at him now and he didn't meet her eyes. "Jack..."
"What?"
He could see her searching for the diplomatic answer. "You've just gotten your life back in order. I just hate to see you make the same mistake twice."
"Yeah, well. I appreciate your concern, but as far as I can tell this is the only thing in my life that's in order."
She closed the door again. "Whatever my reservations are about the nature of your relationship with Samantha..."
Jack looked at her, bemused. They had never actually had this conversation before, but the indirect comments had built up over the months to the point where he knew exactly where she stood on the subject. "You're assuming that Samantha and I have a relationship."
Rolling her eyes, she continued. "Even putting aside your family, have you thought about your career?"
"To the best of my recollection, they transferred Samantha for just that reason."
"I don't think they counted on you following her."
"I'm not responsible for the short-sighted decisions of the federal government." he countered, his tone equally light.
She tried a different approach. "Then what about hers?"
It was a fair question, and he had thought about the answer before now. The first time he had ended it with her, and then the second time when she had asked him to confirm it. That was selflessness, he had told himself at the time. Despite his feelings for her, he had walked away to protect her career.
Then came the incident in the bookstore, which to some might have seemed like an act of selflessness. To some extent it might have been, but ultimately it was selfishness with a risk. He had been telling the truth when he told Barry that in that moment he would have been willing to trade his life for her, for in that moment the risk of losing her forever outweighed the potentiality of what could happen to him. As much as he feared his death, he feared life without her more.
"We're all responsible for our own decisions."
"With decisions come responsibilities."
He fingers closed around the steering wheel a little tighter. "That's very poetic of you, Vivian."
"Does Marie know where you've been going on the weekends?"
Jack hadn't noticed the line being crossed until she had stepped over it completely. "I don't think this is any of your business."
"How long have we worked together? Six years?"
He nodded.
"I think we've known each other long enough now that I can say something when I see a _friend_ doing something that he might be too close to the situation to see."
His mouth felt dry. "For example?"
"Your family? Have you considered how detrimental for them it might be for you to keep reemerging into their life only to fall back into the same bad habits?"
"I don't consider her a bad habit." Smoking was a bad habit. His relationship with Samantha would probably be more accurately defined as a vice. An insatiable urge that, when repeated, starts to control everything around you. She was his addiction, but unlike smoking or drinking he wasn't convinced that his life wouldn't be better for it in the long run.
"I'm not trying to say Samantha isn't important to you, but you have to think about your girls. Your spouse. If my husband cheated..."
Closing his eyes for a moment, he took a hard breath. "If your husband cheated on you, you'd care. That's the difference. I come home to a frozen dinner in the microwave and an older daughter who doesn't give a damn that I exist."
"...and that's where responsibility comes in."
"I'm not the only one responsible." It wasn't the most mature of responses, but it was the truth, and he felt an odd sense of relief at being able to tell it to anyone besides Marie.
"I'm not saying you were." She looked at him tentatively. It was uncharacteristic, and Jack knew another line was about to be crossed. "I'm just suggesting that maybe you should take this as a sign. Use the distance as a way to finally walk away. Work on your family."
"Marie asked me to leave three weeks ago."
"I'm sorry." The response was more instinctual than out of any real sympathy and Jack was fine with that; he didn't deserve it any more than she thought he did.
"She told me not to come back until I came to a conclusion on where I stood in her life."
"Did you?"
"Yeah."
"And you haven't gone back?"
He didn't answer, instead letting her mind fill in the blanks.
"Do you love her?"
Not knowing who 'her' referred to, and knowing it didn't matter, he answered. "Yes."
"And you're willing to live with the ramifications?"
"In all honesty, Viv, I'm tired of not living with them."
After a year of lies and guilt and evasive maneuvers he actually found himself needing Marie's anger. Feeding off of it. Not just for justification, but because he felt he needed to pay dues in order to ever rationalize his happiness. It didn't relieve all of his guilt, but it made it easier to sleep at night. Who it made it easier to sleep with was the both the cause and effect of his problems.
"I'm trying not to judge Samantha..."
He stared at her in surprise. "Then don't."
"I'm just wondering if she's willing to live with the ramifications as well."
"She actually asked me not to come there because of them."
"And you went anyway?"
He nodded and opened the door again, stepping out onto the driveway; she walked around the car to join him. Crossing the sidewalk on the way up to the oak door, Vivian stopped for a moment. "You know, I just want you to be happy."
"Me too."
Her apartment building wasn't among the nicest in the District; it wasn't even the nicest on the street. It was older, with chipped paint in the corners and well-worn carpeting in the halls. Still, it had an elevator, which was more than she could say for her building in New York. She had yet to see a rat.
Her eyes tracked the ground out of habit, however, as she turned to enter the alcove outside her door. She saw the shoes first as a shadowy figure stepped out of the darkness.
Leaping backward out of instinct, she reached for the weapon she no longer carried. A hand grabbed her arm, not forcefully, and she looked up.
"Sorry." At least he had the good sense to look sheepish.
Her heart still racing, she met the eyes of her potential attacker. "Jesus, Jack."
Now he just looked amused. "Are you okay?"
"I'll let you know..." Her words were cut short when his lips met hers. After a moment, she relaxed into the pressure. Reluctant to end the contact, she pulled away and fumbled through her purse for her keys. "This is a surprise."
"Yeah, I was just passing by."
She raised an eyebrow. "How did you know I wasn't spending the weekend with my other boss?"
"I've seen Nieper."
It wasn't until they were inside the door under the light that Jack noticed her pale complexion and the rings under her eyes. "You don't look very good."
"That's not what Nieper says."
He shook his head. "Are you okay?"
Kicking off her shoes in the hall, she walked toward her bedroom. "I'm just exhausted. I'm getting over a cold and I've been in the office till 10 every night this week." Her voice grew more distant as she turned the corner. "We're starting a unit in New Orleans this week, so I'm finally getting to see what I'm facing here."
Standing in the doorway, he watched as she removed her shirt and slide a tank top over her head. "Isn't there anyone to help you?"
"Yeah, but they're not much help." She grabbed a pair of boxer shorts from her top drawer. "I don't know how you do it."
"I've always had good people."
She laid her skirt on the bed. "'Had' being the operative word, of course."
"Of course."
With a smile, she passed him on her way back into the living room. "Do you want something to drink?"
"I'll get it. You sit down."
She did as she was told and he knew she must be tired. Removing two glasses from the cupboard above the stove, he opened the refrigerator. "I'm sorry to come unannounced, but I have to escape while I can."
"You can come anytime, you know."
"Besides, there's something I wanted to talk to you about." He crossed over to where she sat on the couch. Handing her a glass, he took a seat next to her.
"Orange juice? What a practical choice."
"For your cold." He didn't add that he had several drinks before he had made his way to her building. Liquid courage, some might say. All he knew was that he was here despite his multiple attempts to talk himself out of the trip.
She smiled. "Thank you." Taking several sips, she stretched forward and placed the drink on the coffee table. She leaned back, closer this time. "How was your day?"
Jack was struck suddenly by how normal it felt to be there with her. "The usual. Closed another case. Spent three hours in Van Doran's office going over expense reports from last month."
"Nice. Did anything in particular catch her interest?"
"No." There had only been one trip to Washington on there; he had paid for the rest out of his own pocket. He had kept that to himself.
"Anything else?"
"Marie and I separated again."
The room fell silent and Jack watched as her mouth opened and closed several times as she tried to find an appropriate response. She settled for a nod and he realized the ball was still in his court.
"It was more a formality than anything else."
"Does she know?"
"About us? No."
He felt her leg tense next to his and reflexively he moved his hand to her knee. If she noticed the ring of pale skin where his ring used to be, she didn't comment, but her hand slid over his regardless. Entwining his fingers with hers, he stared at the carpet. "I didn't tell her, because that would only make it seem like this was the reason why."
She was watching him now. "And it's not?"
"It never was." The realization had come to him not in some great epiphany, but as he was sitting next to Martin listening to a deposition. One minute he was theorizing as to the motive of a teenaged kidnapper, the next minute he was thinking about his own motive for the affair, for betraying his marriage.
It was then he realized he never had one. He was guilty of falling out of love with one woman before falling in love with another.
Her voice was tentative when she spoke again. "Where does that leave us?"
"Where do you want it to leave us?"
Resting her head on the back of the couch, she studied him. "Distance is really the only obstacle now, and obviously that doesn't seem to bother you."
His fingers trailed along her inner thigh, stopping at the slightly raised flesh that marked the perimeter of the scar there. She flinched, and he started to withdraw his hand. "Does it still hurt?"
"Just tickles."
"Ah." He rested his hand right above her knee.
"This is nice. Thanks for coming."
He spoke into her hair. "Thanks for having me."
"I didn't, actually. To be more accurate, you ambushed me."
"You didn't have to let me in."
She yawned. "True. I should just give you a key."
His eyes popped open and he found himself staring at the top of her head. "What?"
"That way when you come down here you can just let yourself in, instead of standing outside my door like a panhandler."
Jack knew the offer was made lightly, that it was a practical thing to do given their situation. Still, the concept brought with it some weight, and gave new dimension to a relationship that had been over for months and was decidedly less than stable before that. "Are you sure you'd want to do that?"
"It's just a key; I'm not asking you to marry me," she laughed, but he detected a bit of nervousness.
"Okay."
Neither spoke for several minutes, and when she broke the silence her words were slurred from impending sleep. "Does that mean you'll be here more often?"
"Depends on work. You know how unpredictable it can be."
She didn't respond except to press more firmly into his side. Her breathing had slowed, and he wondered if maybe she had fallen asleep. He squeezed her upper arm lightly. "Sam?"
"You know, even if I had the option to go back, I don't know if I'd want to."
That was out of the blue. "You wouldn't?"
"Would this be possible if we were working together?"
Six months ago he would have said yes, if only because it had been possible before. They had started a sexual relationship despite the fact that he was her superior, despite his marriage, despite all the clichés already present between them that should have served as warning signs from the beginning.
Six months ago he hadn't recently tried to reconcile with his wife, they hadn't met Farrell or the Office of Professional Review, and Samantha hadn't seemed as vulnerable as she did on this couch, in this apartment, in this city. As hard as the separation had been, he wondered if it hadn't served as an impetus for a stronger connection between them. For the first time, he had begun to think of Samantha as completely separate from his other life. His marriage with Marie was as damaged as it had ever been, despite his honest attempt to repair it. He could go to work and not see the constant reminder of his mistake, but instead remember why he had made it in the first place. There was an adage that absence made the heart grow fonder, but he was beginning to wonder if maybe it just made it grow smarter.
So, instead he answered honestly.
"No."
"Does anyone know you're here?"
"Vivian."
"You told her?" Her voice might have registered surprise had she been more awake, but now it was almost incoherent.
"Do you ever have to tell her anything?"
"True. How does she feel about this?"
"I think she strongly disapproves."
Samantha sighed against his chest, but didn't respond.
Maybe it was the dim light, or that she wasn't fully awake, but Jack felt a sudden sense of urgency. "She also told me she wanted me to be happy."
Her body tensed slightly. "Are you?"
"I wasn't until recently. I think I was trying so hard not to have to make choices that I was satisfied with doing the right thing."
"And you've made a choice?"
"No." He had convinced himself he had; convinced himself that choosing was the only fair option for either woman.
Pulling away from him slightly, her eyes opened and met his for the first time since they had sat down. "Then how can you be happy?"
By reevaluating what the right thing is.
He drew her back to his side and planted a soft kiss in her hair before moving his legs up to join hers on the cushions. Turning their bodies so they faced each other, he slid his left leg under her right and tucked an arm around her waist.
As she fell asleep, he realized she was right. For her to return to New York would be for her to return to the lies, the instability, and the unfairness that had defined their relationship from the beginning. Somehow that same uncertainty had translated itself into something that she would trade her old life to keep.
Samantha had made her choice.
Marie, by asking him to leave, had made hers.
He hadn't made a choice because he didn't have to make one.
Reaching up for the blanket spread across the back of the couch, he pulled it over them. The other choices would come later.
TBC
