"the promise that you made."
without a trace. jack/samantha. pg-13.
characters not mine.
thank you to M for beta and words of praise.
---
A lone cigarette twirls between her fingers. The thin stream of smokes rises above, blends with her cold cloud of breath. She promised him she'd quit once, but sometimes old habits creep back. She'd been in the department less than a month when he discovered her outside on the balcony, a cigarette balanced between her fingers. The way he gently pulled it from her hand and stomped it out showed he cared. The way his fingers brushed against hers showed that maybe it was more than that.
The horn of a ferry out on the water sounds distant and muddled in her thoughts. She leans back into the railing, high above the Hudson, and spots something past the trees, bare with the winter weather.
Through the light snow she can just barely make out his figure at the other side of the park, but she knows it's him. She's sure of it. There isn't a way she wouldn't recognize him. Not after long, sleepless nights at work pouring over phone records and credit card receipts. Not after lying in bed with him, early in the morning, when the city was ruled by the rats and the pigeons. Not after sinking her lips deep into his, hoping never to let go, hoping to stay in that moment forever.
He would whisper words of love and hope in her ear. His fingers would trace lazy circles on her back, she would run her hand through his hair and in that singular second everything would seem like it would turn out okay.
She can see him out at the other side of the park and she can tell that it's his wife with her arm wrapped around his waist. Her eyes sting slightly with tears and she tells herself she's not going to cry. Years ago, he promised to stay by his wife's side forever and through everything. A silent promise he made through slipping a ring on a finger. Somehow, though, it still hurts her. To see him with someone else, to see him with his arm wrapped protectively around someone else's waist. But he never really was hers to have.
So she flicks her cigarette to the ground, crushes it into the cement with the heel of her boot and pulls herself up. Takes a step forward and promises to herself that she'll move on.
without a trace. jack/samantha. pg-13.
characters not mine.
thank you to M for beta and words of praise.
---
A lone cigarette twirls between her fingers. The thin stream of smokes rises above, blends with her cold cloud of breath. She promised him she'd quit once, but sometimes old habits creep back. She'd been in the department less than a month when he discovered her outside on the balcony, a cigarette balanced between her fingers. The way he gently pulled it from her hand and stomped it out showed he cared. The way his fingers brushed against hers showed that maybe it was more than that.
The horn of a ferry out on the water sounds distant and muddled in her thoughts. She leans back into the railing, high above the Hudson, and spots something past the trees, bare with the winter weather.
Through the light snow she can just barely make out his figure at the other side of the park, but she knows it's him. She's sure of it. There isn't a way she wouldn't recognize him. Not after long, sleepless nights at work pouring over phone records and credit card receipts. Not after lying in bed with him, early in the morning, when the city was ruled by the rats and the pigeons. Not after sinking her lips deep into his, hoping never to let go, hoping to stay in that moment forever.
He would whisper words of love and hope in her ear. His fingers would trace lazy circles on her back, she would run her hand through his hair and in that singular second everything would seem like it would turn out okay.
She can see him out at the other side of the park and she can tell that it's his wife with her arm wrapped around his waist. Her eyes sting slightly with tears and she tells herself she's not going to cry. Years ago, he promised to stay by his wife's side forever and through everything. A silent promise he made through slipping a ring on a finger. Somehow, though, it still hurts her. To see him with someone else, to see him with his arm wrapped protectively around someone else's waist. But he never really was hers to have.
So she flicks her cigarette to the ground, crushes it into the cement with the heel of her boot and pulls herself up. Takes a step forward and promises to herself that she'll move on.
