TITLE: Gifting
AUTHOR: Blaze
RATINGS/SPOILERS: PG and none for WaT.
SUMMARY: "Just because, From S"
A/N: Short little (slightly random) fic. Thanks to D and to MSt. Enjoy!
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The kids are actually smiling.
He can see them from the window, playing below, and even though Hanna's been slaughtering Kate in the snowman-building competition, they're both laughing and having a good time.
And he's the loneliest man on the planet.
Sitting on his bed—Maria's bed—thinking how on earth he can ruin their day with the news, breaking his family apart for good this time all because of himself.
Thinking the packed suitcase will give away far more to their young hearts than his words will.
He sighs and reaches into the back of his sock drawer—the one he uses mostly as a junk drawer, the one Maria would never go through. There's a baseball card back there he doesn't want to leave behind, and though he'll probably be back later to pick up the stuff that's not entirely portable, he doesn't want to leave anything small behind.
His fingers brush something slightly rougher than the average baseball card, something slightly rougher and attached to a small box. Jack wraps his fingers around it and pulls it from the back of the drawer, revealing a tan card with an artsy stamp of a leaf on the front. He frowns; it's not something he remembers, it's not something Maria would have given him, but it must be something special or it wouldn't have been so far back in the drawer.
Turning over the card, he sees, "Just because, from S" written in a familiar hand.
And his heart stops.
It was a gift he hadn't wanted or expected, a gift both of them knew could get him in trouble, could get both of them in trouble, but despite the risks and his protests, she'd handed it to him anyway, saying, "You don't have to open it now, you don't have to keep it, but I wanted you to have it."
"I don't think this is a good idea."
"I know, and I wasn't sure it was either. But I wanted us to be…" She took a deep breath. "Real."
"We can't be."
Sam nodded. "I know." She glanced at the small box in his hand, the card he hadn't read, and forced a smile. "You still want that? I know it was a stupid idea, and you haven't opened it. Might be better to give it back now before you get caught."
"Uh… No. No. I'll keep it." Flashing her an amused grin, he added, "It's not every day a man gets a gift from his…"
"Mistress. Why do you have so much trouble saying that?"
"I don't have a problem saying it. Mistress."
"Who am I?"
"You are my…" He rolled his eyes. "Okay, I can't say it."
"That's what I thought," she said with a small smile. "I love that about you, you know? That you can't classify us. That you can't call me a mistress."
"You know you're more than that, Sam."
"I know. Same here." She leaned across the table and kissed him quickly, then shook her head, and with a wry expression, said, "I can't believe I'm kissing a married man."
Their lips met again. "Wanna join one in the bedroom?" He winked.
"I don't know, Jack. That's just so wrong."
"It is." They kissed.
And in an instant, he's back in a different bedroom still holding the box he's never opened, packing the memory away like the rest of his things. The box stares at him, almost accusingly, mostly curiously, as if it is wondering where it—and Samantha—fit into this new life.
He wants to open it.
Gets as far as turning it over to see if there's tape attaching to the top of the box to the bottom, and stops.
It's gone this long without being opened. He sighs, and places it in his pocket.
Maybe later.
