Chapter Five
John sat up in bed, startled by the sound of someone crying out for help. He reached for the light switch with one hand while searching the nightstand blindly for his gun with the other. Squinting as he tried to adjust to the lamp's bright glow, he looked over to the bed next to his. Sam was tossing beneath the covers, alternatively whimpering and calling out in fear.
Taking a deep breath, John tried to squash the surge of adrenaline running through his system. "Sam!" She didn't hear him, still trapped in her nightmare. Sighing, he stepped out of his bed, then sat down on the edge of hers. He reached out and touched her forehead, brushing sweat-soaked blonde hair away from her brow. "Sam?" he said, softly. "Sam, it's John. Wake up." Still no reply, and she whimpered again, the terror-filled sound causing his heart to constrict with pain on her behalf. "Sam, come on. Wake up." He shook her shoulder gently.
Sam felt him touch her, and the sound of his voice pulled her out of her dream and into reality. "John?" she whispered, looking up at him with an unfocused gaze.
John gave her a small smile, his eyes dark with concern. "Hey, you okay? You were having a nightmare."
"Yeah," she replied on a yawn, slowly sitting up and blinking with disorientation. She tried to focus her vision as she pushed the covers down off her chest and onto her lap. "I'm fine."
John didn't look convinced, his hand still resting firmly on her shoulder. "You sure? You wanna... I don't know, talk about it, or something?"
Sam had to smile at that, the remnants of her dream fading from memory. "Shouldn't that be my line?"
"I'm not the one thrashing around in bed," John pointed out.
Sam looked to her side, needing to break his intense gaze, at least momentarily. "I'm fine," she repeated, turning her eyes back to his. "Thanks for waking me."
John shrugged. "Sure." He leaned back, removing his hand from her shoulder. "What were you dreaming about?"
Sam glanced down at the comforter, the concern she could see so clearly in his eyes making her strangely uncomfortable. "Jack," she admitted softly. She looked back at him, and felt herself soften at the gentleness of his expression. It had been a very long time since he'd looked at her like that.
"Do you dream about him a lot?" John asked, shifting position so that his injured leg was no longer tucked beneath his weight.
"Less than I used to," Sam evaded, her cheeks beginning to flush. John's movement had brought him closer to her, and she could feel the heat of his body through the comforter, the soft pressure of his leg against her hip. For one insane moment she contemplated moving a little closer, wanting, for reasons she couldn't understand, to be closer to that tempting warmth.
"So is that once every other night as opposed to nightly?" John prompted, trying to read the expression on her face.
Sam swallowed, pursing her lips together as she wondered what the hell was wrong with her. She knew she'd be fine, if he would just stop *looking* at her like that. Like... like *Tom*. The realization came suddenly, and she felt as if she'd just been kicked in the stomach. That was it. That *look* on John's face... it was the same one, the same *exact* one, Tom used to get when he was worried about her. Tears filled her eyes, and she knew if John didn't stop looking at her like that, *right now*, she was going to lose it. "I... I don't want to talk about it, John, okay? Please?" she begged, her voice trembling with emotion.
John stared at her silently for a long moment, the catch in her voice preventing him from leaving her alone like she'd asked. He reached out, pulling her forward and wrapping his arms around her, sensing that she was about to lose control. "It's okay, Sam. It's okay," he said softly, stroking her hair.
Sam remained stiff against him until she heard him speak. She had no idea what he was saying, but the tone of his voice matched that damned look he'd had in his eyes, and her tenuous grasp on equanimity was shattered. She burrowed against his chest, and began to cry in earnest, memories of the two men she'd loved and lost because of Jack running through her mind. As she tried and failed to catch her breath and regain control, she searched her memory, wondering when was the last time she'd cried on someone's shoulder. The realization caused fresh tears to form, as it occurred to her that no one had held and comforted her like this since she'd left Atlanta. She pulled away from him after another moment, wiping at her eyes and giving a small, forced laugh. "Bet your surprised," she said, her voice choked with tears and even more memories.
"'Bout what?" John asked, confused.
Sam smiled softly, steeling herself to look up at him and face that expression once again. "That I actually do have a heart," she whispered, her voice sounding haunted with sorrow even to her own ears.
John blinked, hard, as her words called up the memory he knew was now on both their minds. "Look, Sam," he began quietly, "I know I've been a jerk..."
Sam shook her head, quickly interrupting him, "Don't. You don't owe me an apology, John. It's the other way around."
"This isn't the time, Sam," John said firmly, reaching out with his hand to wipe away the remaining tears from her cheek.
"Then when is?"
It took all of John's willpower to say, "Not now. Not ever, as far as I'm concerned. You don't owe me an explanation."
Sam knew that was a lie. She did owe him an explanation, and she was ready, now, to give him the truth. She didn't know if that would be the case in the morning. Unfortunately, she was also exhausted and emotionally drained from crying. She lacked the energy to argue with him. "We have to talk about this," she tried anyway.
John desperately wanted to hear what she had to say, but knew if they talked about it now it wouldn't be fair to either one of them. She was upset, and there was no way John could be even remotely honest about his feelings when she was looking at him with tears still lingering in her eyes. "We got at least another two hotel stays before we hit Atlanta," he reminded her, tucking a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear without thinking.
Sam sighed and gave in. "What time is it?" she asked, changing the subject.
He looked over at the clock on the nightstand. "Two thirty."
"I guess we should go back to bed, then," she said softly.
"Guess so," John agreed, and forced himself to stand up, immediately missing the feel of her body brushing against his. He climbed back into his own bed, and shut off the light, turning away from her to face the window. "G'night, Sam. Sweet dreams."
"Good night, John," Sam replied. She stared off into the darkness of the room, wondering just how badly she'd hurt him by keeping her silence these past two years.
Sam pursed her lips together so no sound would escape as the tears once again began to fall, silently, down her cheeks.
~End Chapter Five~
End Note: Sorry this is a little shorter than the others. Please, please, please let me know what you thought. :)
John sat up in bed, startled by the sound of someone crying out for help. He reached for the light switch with one hand while searching the nightstand blindly for his gun with the other. Squinting as he tried to adjust to the lamp's bright glow, he looked over to the bed next to his. Sam was tossing beneath the covers, alternatively whimpering and calling out in fear.
Taking a deep breath, John tried to squash the surge of adrenaline running through his system. "Sam!" She didn't hear him, still trapped in her nightmare. Sighing, he stepped out of his bed, then sat down on the edge of hers. He reached out and touched her forehead, brushing sweat-soaked blonde hair away from her brow. "Sam?" he said, softly. "Sam, it's John. Wake up." Still no reply, and she whimpered again, the terror-filled sound causing his heart to constrict with pain on her behalf. "Sam, come on. Wake up." He shook her shoulder gently.
Sam felt him touch her, and the sound of his voice pulled her out of her dream and into reality. "John?" she whispered, looking up at him with an unfocused gaze.
John gave her a small smile, his eyes dark with concern. "Hey, you okay? You were having a nightmare."
"Yeah," she replied on a yawn, slowly sitting up and blinking with disorientation. She tried to focus her vision as she pushed the covers down off her chest and onto her lap. "I'm fine."
John didn't look convinced, his hand still resting firmly on her shoulder. "You sure? You wanna... I don't know, talk about it, or something?"
Sam had to smile at that, the remnants of her dream fading from memory. "Shouldn't that be my line?"
"I'm not the one thrashing around in bed," John pointed out.
Sam looked to her side, needing to break his intense gaze, at least momentarily. "I'm fine," she repeated, turning her eyes back to his. "Thanks for waking me."
John shrugged. "Sure." He leaned back, removing his hand from her shoulder. "What were you dreaming about?"
Sam glanced down at the comforter, the concern she could see so clearly in his eyes making her strangely uncomfortable. "Jack," she admitted softly. She looked back at him, and felt herself soften at the gentleness of his expression. It had been a very long time since he'd looked at her like that.
"Do you dream about him a lot?" John asked, shifting position so that his injured leg was no longer tucked beneath his weight.
"Less than I used to," Sam evaded, her cheeks beginning to flush. John's movement had brought him closer to her, and she could feel the heat of his body through the comforter, the soft pressure of his leg against her hip. For one insane moment she contemplated moving a little closer, wanting, for reasons she couldn't understand, to be closer to that tempting warmth.
"So is that once every other night as opposed to nightly?" John prompted, trying to read the expression on her face.
Sam swallowed, pursing her lips together as she wondered what the hell was wrong with her. She knew she'd be fine, if he would just stop *looking* at her like that. Like... like *Tom*. The realization came suddenly, and she felt as if she'd just been kicked in the stomach. That was it. That *look* on John's face... it was the same one, the same *exact* one, Tom used to get when he was worried about her. Tears filled her eyes, and she knew if John didn't stop looking at her like that, *right now*, she was going to lose it. "I... I don't want to talk about it, John, okay? Please?" she begged, her voice trembling with emotion.
John stared at her silently for a long moment, the catch in her voice preventing him from leaving her alone like she'd asked. He reached out, pulling her forward and wrapping his arms around her, sensing that she was about to lose control. "It's okay, Sam. It's okay," he said softly, stroking her hair.
Sam remained stiff against him until she heard him speak. She had no idea what he was saying, but the tone of his voice matched that damned look he'd had in his eyes, and her tenuous grasp on equanimity was shattered. She burrowed against his chest, and began to cry in earnest, memories of the two men she'd loved and lost because of Jack running through her mind. As she tried and failed to catch her breath and regain control, she searched her memory, wondering when was the last time she'd cried on someone's shoulder. The realization caused fresh tears to form, as it occurred to her that no one had held and comforted her like this since she'd left Atlanta. She pulled away from him after another moment, wiping at her eyes and giving a small, forced laugh. "Bet your surprised," she said, her voice choked with tears and even more memories.
"'Bout what?" John asked, confused.
Sam smiled softly, steeling herself to look up at him and face that expression once again. "That I actually do have a heart," she whispered, her voice sounding haunted with sorrow even to her own ears.
John blinked, hard, as her words called up the memory he knew was now on both their minds. "Look, Sam," he began quietly, "I know I've been a jerk..."
Sam shook her head, quickly interrupting him, "Don't. You don't owe me an apology, John. It's the other way around."
"This isn't the time, Sam," John said firmly, reaching out with his hand to wipe away the remaining tears from her cheek.
"Then when is?"
It took all of John's willpower to say, "Not now. Not ever, as far as I'm concerned. You don't owe me an explanation."
Sam knew that was a lie. She did owe him an explanation, and she was ready, now, to give him the truth. She didn't know if that would be the case in the morning. Unfortunately, she was also exhausted and emotionally drained from crying. She lacked the energy to argue with him. "We have to talk about this," she tried anyway.
John desperately wanted to hear what she had to say, but knew if they talked about it now it wouldn't be fair to either one of them. She was upset, and there was no way John could be even remotely honest about his feelings when she was looking at him with tears still lingering in her eyes. "We got at least another two hotel stays before we hit Atlanta," he reminded her, tucking a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear without thinking.
Sam sighed and gave in. "What time is it?" she asked, changing the subject.
He looked over at the clock on the nightstand. "Two thirty."
"I guess we should go back to bed, then," she said softly.
"Guess so," John agreed, and forced himself to stand up, immediately missing the feel of her body brushing against his. He climbed back into his own bed, and shut off the light, turning away from her to face the window. "G'night, Sam. Sweet dreams."
"Good night, John," Sam replied. She stared off into the darkness of the room, wondering just how badly she'd hurt him by keeping her silence these past two years.
Sam pursed her lips together so no sound would escape as the tears once again began to fall, silently, down her cheeks.
~End Chapter Five~
End Note: Sorry this is a little shorter than the others. Please, please, please let me know what you thought. :)