I feel myself drifting into a light slumber and hope to dream of Jack at least for a little while.

******

I roll around, feeling lazy and not wanting to get out of bed. I can't believe the last few days I've had, and I slip out of bed, pattering into the kitchen to grab a snack. I glance down at my cell phone and the icon, reminding me I have a voice mail. I take note of the missed call and see it's Martin. I let out a sigh, slightly depressed that Jack isn't concerned enough to call. Who am I kidding? He's married and probably living it up with Maria right now.

I take a seat on the sofa, snacking on some potato chips as I hear the doorbell. I let out a sigh, contemplating whether or not I should answer it. It's likely Martin coming by to see how I'm doing. I don't want to see him right now; I don't think I can. I'd only be lying to him about how I really feel and that's not right. I don't want to hurt him; I really don't. I'm worried that in the end, though, it'll be him or me hurting.

I apprehensively get up to answer the door. I unlatch the chain and pull back the door. "Jack?" I let out a breath. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to stop by and see how you were doing."

"I'm fine, really," I answer.

"I thought earlier at the restaurant might have been the after effects of yesterday and getting hit in the head."

"You don't have to worry about me," I laugh softly.

"Can I come in?" He eyes me and I pull back the door all the way, allowing him to step foot inside my place. "Thanks," he tells me, pulling out a small box from his jacket. "Merry Christmas, Sam."

"Jack," I shake my head no, "I can't accept it."

"I can't very well take it back. I bought it for you last Christmas and never gave it to you," his eyes fall to the floor.

"Why not?"

"We promised it was over between us," he reminds me.

"And now?" I question.

"After what you said in the restaurant, I'm going out on a limb here assuming the person you're still in love with is me." He hands me the box. I can only imagine what's inside and let out a soft breath. It's in a jewelry box the size of a ring and I feel my stomach tense.

"You're married," I remind him.

"That doesn't mean I still don't have feelings for you. We don't have to act on them."

"Jack," I whisper out, moving to the sofa to take a seat. I can't decide which is worse---to accept a gift from him and know I can never have him but have the chance of starting up what we did 'have', or never see the gift and push him away further.

"I'm not asking for anything from you."

"Good, because I didn't get you anything," I laugh softly. "Besides, I'm mad at you." I eye him seriously.

"You have a right to be. I should never have asked you to try and fix things with Maria and myself. It's our problem, not yours."

"Not that," I shake my head, biting down on my lower lip. Do I tell Jack what Martin told me in confidence? How can I not?

"Then what?" He eyes me intently.

"You took my file from Lisa's office," I state, crossing my arms defensively. His hands still hold the small box and he shuts his eyes for a second.

"I was worried about you."

"You couldn't come to me? You had to go behind my back?"

"I never meant for you to find out."

"That doesn't make it right," I remind him. "You went beyond what was necessary, Jack; you intentionally hurt me."

"That's not true," he says as he moves closer towards me. His hand reaches up for my face to meet his eyes, but I can't look at him because I know I'll forgive him. "You have no idea the thoughts that were running through my head, Sam."

"You never share anything with me. How would I know what you're thinking?" I point out.

"I'm sorry."

"That's not good enough," I retort. "Why'd you do it?"

"I was worried about you. Lately you seem withdrawn and depressed. I was worried what you might do. When you said you had a date, I grew anxious, Sam. I can't explain it."

"Jealousy?"

"It wasn't that." He puts the small box on the table and takes my hands in his. "I was worried you might do something incredibly rash and hurt yourself."

"Jack, I wouldn't--" He cuts me off with an intense stare. "I couldn't do that to you," I tell him, squeezing his hand softly.

"I also thought maybe it wasn't me that you were having problems with, but some guy. You mentioned you were dating someone and I thought--" he pauses, letting out a soft breath, "I was concerned that you found yourself with someone who was trouble."

"What makes you think that?"

"Your choice in men, Samantha."

"I chose you," I eye him seriously.

"You also chose Kellar and Dr. Fred who, like you once said, were 'busy and unavailable'. I started thinking that maybe you'd find a guy that would cling to you. Then, I became concerned that what if this guy wouldn't let you go. What if he became obsessed and hurt you."

"Jack," I pause, eyeing him intently. "Does this have anything to do with the last case?"

"No, I had these fears before. When you seemed withdrawn, I thought maybe it was because you had changed--and not from the shooting. You seemed all right after that---a little shaken up and antsy---but you were still yourself. It wasn't until later, when your demeanor started to shift, that I was worried a guy you might find yourself with could be like your uncle." Jack's eyes meet mine.

"Jack, I can handle myself," I remind him.

"I know you can," he nods. "I was worried about you. Today, when I saw you with Martin, I should have felt relieved."

"But?"

"You weren't the only one that felt sick in that restaurant," he answers.

"What am I supposed to do? Break up with Martin because you have unresolved issues?"

"I'm not the only one, Samantha," his eyes bore into mine.

I'm quiet, considering what there is to do or say. "Jack, I love you. I told you that almost two years ago, and you shut me out. How is that supposed to make me feel? I was willing to give you a second chance, and a third, because I needed what you had to offer. I felt lonely without you, but now the thought of us having an affair makes me feel sick."

"I'm not here for that," he tells me.

"That what are you here for?" I eye him as he hands me the small box.

"To give this to you, and tell you I've always loved you. I've been too afraid of what the words would do to you."

"What am I supposed to do?" I eye him and then the wrapped package.

"Open it," he whispers. I let out a breath, holding back tears as I rip at the paper and open the small jewelry box to reveal a pair of hearts, a charm to fit on a necklace. "I wanted you to put it on the gold chain I gave you."

"I can't," I shake my head. "You're married, Jack. This gift should be for your wife."

"I love you," he reaffirms. "Even if I can't be with you, I wanted you to have this."

"You're not making this any easier," I whisper, shutting the box tightly.

"Sam?"

"Please go," I tell him with eyes shut and tears falling on my cheeks.

"I don't want to."

"Then what do you want? Please tell me, Jack," I eye him with pain and heartache, as I see his own sadness.

"I want to be with you. I want what we had."

"I can't," I shake my head no. "I want more than that, and you can't give it to me, can you?" My eyes perk up, just slightly hoping he'll say yes.

"I'm married, Samantha," he reminds me.

"I know," I nod. "I can't be with a married man anymore. I love you, Jack-- -I probably always will---but I want more than what you can offer me. One day I might want a family, and I can't be in a relationship where that possibility doesn't exist."

"I can't leave her, Sam."

"I'm not asking you to," I tell him, handing him the closed box and pushing it into his hands before closing his grip over it. "I'm not asking you to choose; I never have. I'm doing it for you. Go home, to your daughters and your wife."

"What about you?" His eyes meet mine.

"I don't know," I answer sadly. "I guess I'll continue to see Martin because, in all honesty, I can't hurt him like you've hurt me."

"Sam," his voice holds pain behind the way he whispers out my name.

"I don't love him, Jack. Not now anyways, but I didn't love you the first time we were together."

"I did," he answers softly, his eyes holding my gaze. "I'm sorry I let you go."

"You never had me. Not really," I remind him.

"That's not true," he counters.

"It is," I nod my head with tears taking in a breath to hide them from him. "If things were different, Jack, just maybe I'd be willing to give us another chance. I can't hurt Martin and myself, to save you."

"I would never ask that," he moves his hand to my cheek, wiping away my tears. My eyes glance away, not wanting him to see the pain I've been carrying with me. "You know I love you."

"It's too late to be sentimental," I whisper. "You should go home and be with your family. You rarely have time off, Jack, so spend it with them."

"What about you?"

"I'll manage on my own. I can always call Martin," I laugh softly.

"You're only kidding yourself."

"What else am I supposed to do?" I eye him seriously. "I've been told more than once I should move on, and why shouldn't I? I may love you, Jack, but I can't be with you---not really."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing," I shake my head, feeling the tears dry and a sad smile playing on my lips. "You're married with two children and that's right where you should be. I was never supposed to come into your life. It wasn't meant to be."

"You don't believe that."

"I have to," I answer, "or else I don't think I could live another moment this way." I stand up, moving towards the window as I feel more tears creeping up on me. "Please go," I whisper, hearing Jack's footsteps come up behind me to place the box on the ledge of the windowsill.

"Merry Christmas," he whispers before stepping out the door.

I break down into sobs as he leaves and I fall to the floor in a heap. Why do I put myself through such torment? Is Jack really worth it? It's obvious he won't ever leave his wife and if he did, he'd feel guilty for all of eternity.

I pull myself to the sofa, wiping my eyes and trying to think of what good can come of this. I feel hopelessly lost and groan out in agony. I'd have been happier if Jack didn't stop by, at least then I wouldn't feel what I'm feeling---love.

I finger the jewel of two hearts welded as one and shut the box. I can't wear this, even if I wanted to. It would only bring about suspicion. I patter my way into my bedroom, with the box in hand. I open up my small wooden jewelry box and then the gift from Jack. I place it between my fingers, giving it a soft kiss because I can't kiss the man I love, and put it away for safe keeping. Maybe one day, in a world where pain ceases to exist, I'll be able to take it out.

I grab my cell phone, dialing Martin and let out a soft breath as he picks up.