Author's note: A little something about Jack and Maria...with Samantha as
the elephant in the room. Not sure where it fits into things, but I've
always wanted to look into Maria's POV, so here were are, at Maria's
bedside at then end of FOII...
Conversation D: ..Words Don't Mean a Thing... By: Mariel
He sat by his wife until she awoke, watching wordlessly as she blinked sleep away and registered his presence.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice rough from sleep.
He had no exact answer to that. While he was trying to come up with one, she sat up and swung her feet over the edge of the bed. Looking at him steadily, she asked, "What happened? You look awful."
Tired beyond belief, he shrugged. "We had a drop go bad. We ended up with a hostage situation. It took a bit of negotiating to get them out."
She frowned. Noting the one, small drop of blood on his shirt, she asked, "Someone was hurt?"
He couldn't bring himself to say her name. "One of my agents was shot."
"They're okay?"
"Yeah."
Her frown remained. There was something more to this than a successful hostage negotiation.
"Why are you here?"
"To see the girls, and you."
She nodded, partly understanding. In spite of their separation, and for all his rarely being there, family and home was important to him. Obviously, something had happened to remind him of that.
"It was the hostage situation I watched on the news last night?"
Looking down at his hands, he nodded. "Yeah. Everything worked out okay."
"The news said the man's wife had been killed in 9/11."
He looked tired and lost, and when he looked up at her with dark, wounded eyes, something inside her melted. He always did this to her. Made her angry, made her realise their living together was a mistake - and then that ernest, hurting little boy part of him would show up and she would question herself again. He wanted to come back. She knew it without his telling her. She sighed. All he was waiting for was her permission.
She regarded him silently, wondering if she could bring herself to give it.
Clenching her jaw, she shook her head. He'd cheated on her. She had no idea for how long or why or with whom, but one thing she did know was that whatever he'd shared with that other woman had not been something he'd given up lightly.
That knowledge had shaken her confidence and hurt her deeply.
And made her angry. She gathered that anger together and asked, "Are you here because you think we should try again, Jack? Is it that man's loss that's making you want to reconsider our marriage?"
"I think we need to try again."
She stared at him, her mind reeling. Just like that. That's all he thought it would take - an 'I think', and their lives would fall into line, and they'd just straighten everything out...
"I'm not so sure," she said.
His dark eyes held hers. "Maria, I'm sorry. I messed up. I know that. But I think we should try again. For the girls." He thought of Barry. "For us. Maybe we haven't realised how lucky we are. Maybe we've spent too much time arguing and not enough time thanking God we have so much."
"Or maybe we should cut our losses and run, Jack. The girls will survive. We'll work out custody and visitation and support payments and everything, and get on with our lives. We were good together once, but we're not good married anymore. We don't meet each other's expectations. Our needs aren't the same anymore."
She could see he was shocked by her words, but felt little remorse. She was tired. Tired of being angry at him, tired of being suspicious and untrusting.
And tired of being hurt and afraid.
She wanted to feel she had some sort of control. She wanted a normal life, with normal hours and a husband with a normal job and normal job-related problems... And a husband she trusted. One who didn't have an affair and then refuse to talk about it, except to say it was over and he was sorry and it wouldn't happen again - as though she could believe that, when every ounce of her intuition told her differently.
"You think we can't make it?"
His words broke into her thoughts. "I don't know, Jack," she answered, "I just don't know." Rising, she slipped her arms into the housecoat she kept slung over the end of the bed. "We'll have to talk more about this." In truth, she was frightened. No matter what they did, she felt that something would be wrong with their choice. There were too many unanswered questions, too many hurts, accusations, and memories. And the impossibility of going back. Looking at him, she forced herself not to react, to look past her first reactions and to consider the girls.
Finally, she suggested, "Why don't you stay for breakfast and take the girls to school? They'd like that. Then come for supper tonight. We can talk after Kate and Hannah go to bed."
She saw the indecision in his eyes, and knew immediately that there was somewhere else he needed to be. Something inside her tightened. Job or other woman, it didn't matter. Whatever it was, it took precedence, and she hated it.
That he did not mention the who, where, and why of that 'somewhere else' made her suspicious it involved a woman. She grimaced, hating the feeling of mistrust and jealousy that rose up inside her, and hating that she felt it and that he could inspire it. Whatever - or whoever - the reason for his affair, still played heavily on his mind. She knew that with a weight of certainty that made her want to both weep and scream. The distance that had arisen between them had remained unchanged. His coming back would not erase whatever had taken him away in the first place. Hell, she'd spent her entire married life competing with his job. His affair had shown her she also competed with something else, something more unknown - and more frightening - and, whoever she was, she was someone who held a part of him very firmly, whether he knew it or not.
So she looked across the room at him and knew without his telling her that he couldn't stay, that once again he had other, more important things to deal with. "You can't, can you?" she said, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "You need to be somewhere. Fine, then," she said, turning away from him abruptly.
He looked at her back, unable to keep the sense of urgency he felt out of his expression. He needed to see Samantha, needed to see she was really okay. Still, he knew he needed to work on this, work on getting his family back together. Again striving to make the two ends meet in the middle, he said, "I can't stay this morning, but I can be here tonight. I promise."
She turned back to look at him, then nodded woodenly. "Okay. That would be good, Jack. I'll let the girls know you dropped by to see them."
He rose, feeling lost and uncomfortable. "Thanks," he told her. "I'll see you all tonight."
He wondered about kissing her, wondered how she would respond if he walked across the room and touched his lips briefly to her cheek, as though nothing had changed between them. Looking into her eyes, he hesitated, and knew he should not. They would work this out, of that he was certain, but not by pretending nothing had happened. She would not allow it. He would have to regain her trust, regain the even footing he had once shared with her.
God only knew how he'd manage it.
She stood motionless and stared at him. The resolution to make things work that she saw in his eyes gladdened her. Her desire that he not touch her, however, made her question what the hell she was doing.
Where she suspected he was going was another matter altogether.
End Conversation D: ...Words Don't Mean a Thing...
Conversation D: ..Words Don't Mean a Thing... By: Mariel
He sat by his wife until she awoke, watching wordlessly as she blinked sleep away and registered his presence.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice rough from sleep.
He had no exact answer to that. While he was trying to come up with one, she sat up and swung her feet over the edge of the bed. Looking at him steadily, she asked, "What happened? You look awful."
Tired beyond belief, he shrugged. "We had a drop go bad. We ended up with a hostage situation. It took a bit of negotiating to get them out."
She frowned. Noting the one, small drop of blood on his shirt, she asked, "Someone was hurt?"
He couldn't bring himself to say her name. "One of my agents was shot."
"They're okay?"
"Yeah."
Her frown remained. There was something more to this than a successful hostage negotiation.
"Why are you here?"
"To see the girls, and you."
She nodded, partly understanding. In spite of their separation, and for all his rarely being there, family and home was important to him. Obviously, something had happened to remind him of that.
"It was the hostage situation I watched on the news last night?"
Looking down at his hands, he nodded. "Yeah. Everything worked out okay."
"The news said the man's wife had been killed in 9/11."
He looked tired and lost, and when he looked up at her with dark, wounded eyes, something inside her melted. He always did this to her. Made her angry, made her realise their living together was a mistake - and then that ernest, hurting little boy part of him would show up and she would question herself again. He wanted to come back. She knew it without his telling her. She sighed. All he was waiting for was her permission.
She regarded him silently, wondering if she could bring herself to give it.
Clenching her jaw, she shook her head. He'd cheated on her. She had no idea for how long or why or with whom, but one thing she did know was that whatever he'd shared with that other woman had not been something he'd given up lightly.
That knowledge had shaken her confidence and hurt her deeply.
And made her angry. She gathered that anger together and asked, "Are you here because you think we should try again, Jack? Is it that man's loss that's making you want to reconsider our marriage?"
"I think we need to try again."
She stared at him, her mind reeling. Just like that. That's all he thought it would take - an 'I think', and their lives would fall into line, and they'd just straighten everything out...
"I'm not so sure," she said.
His dark eyes held hers. "Maria, I'm sorry. I messed up. I know that. But I think we should try again. For the girls." He thought of Barry. "For us. Maybe we haven't realised how lucky we are. Maybe we've spent too much time arguing and not enough time thanking God we have so much."
"Or maybe we should cut our losses and run, Jack. The girls will survive. We'll work out custody and visitation and support payments and everything, and get on with our lives. We were good together once, but we're not good married anymore. We don't meet each other's expectations. Our needs aren't the same anymore."
She could see he was shocked by her words, but felt little remorse. She was tired. Tired of being angry at him, tired of being suspicious and untrusting.
And tired of being hurt and afraid.
She wanted to feel she had some sort of control. She wanted a normal life, with normal hours and a husband with a normal job and normal job-related problems... And a husband she trusted. One who didn't have an affair and then refuse to talk about it, except to say it was over and he was sorry and it wouldn't happen again - as though she could believe that, when every ounce of her intuition told her differently.
"You think we can't make it?"
His words broke into her thoughts. "I don't know, Jack," she answered, "I just don't know." Rising, she slipped her arms into the housecoat she kept slung over the end of the bed. "We'll have to talk more about this." In truth, she was frightened. No matter what they did, she felt that something would be wrong with their choice. There were too many unanswered questions, too many hurts, accusations, and memories. And the impossibility of going back. Looking at him, she forced herself not to react, to look past her first reactions and to consider the girls.
Finally, she suggested, "Why don't you stay for breakfast and take the girls to school? They'd like that. Then come for supper tonight. We can talk after Kate and Hannah go to bed."
She saw the indecision in his eyes, and knew immediately that there was somewhere else he needed to be. Something inside her tightened. Job or other woman, it didn't matter. Whatever it was, it took precedence, and she hated it.
That he did not mention the who, where, and why of that 'somewhere else' made her suspicious it involved a woman. She grimaced, hating the feeling of mistrust and jealousy that rose up inside her, and hating that she felt it and that he could inspire it. Whatever - or whoever - the reason for his affair, still played heavily on his mind. She knew that with a weight of certainty that made her want to both weep and scream. The distance that had arisen between them had remained unchanged. His coming back would not erase whatever had taken him away in the first place. Hell, she'd spent her entire married life competing with his job. His affair had shown her she also competed with something else, something more unknown - and more frightening - and, whoever she was, she was someone who held a part of him very firmly, whether he knew it or not.
So she looked across the room at him and knew without his telling her that he couldn't stay, that once again he had other, more important things to deal with. "You can't, can you?" she said, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "You need to be somewhere. Fine, then," she said, turning away from him abruptly.
He looked at her back, unable to keep the sense of urgency he felt out of his expression. He needed to see Samantha, needed to see she was really okay. Still, he knew he needed to work on this, work on getting his family back together. Again striving to make the two ends meet in the middle, he said, "I can't stay this morning, but I can be here tonight. I promise."
She turned back to look at him, then nodded woodenly. "Okay. That would be good, Jack. I'll let the girls know you dropped by to see them."
He rose, feeling lost and uncomfortable. "Thanks," he told her. "I'll see you all tonight."
He wondered about kissing her, wondered how she would respond if he walked across the room and touched his lips briefly to her cheek, as though nothing had changed between them. Looking into her eyes, he hesitated, and knew he should not. They would work this out, of that he was certain, but not by pretending nothing had happened. She would not allow it. He would have to regain her trust, regain the even footing he had once shared with her.
God only knew how he'd manage it.
She stood motionless and stared at him. The resolution to make things work that she saw in his eyes gladdened her. Her desire that he not touch her, however, made her question what the hell she was doing.
Where she suspected he was going was another matter altogether.
End Conversation D: ...Words Don't Mean a Thing...