Author's note: Thanks very much for the reviews of chapter 1. Since this is my first WaT story, I wasn't sure if I'd got it right – the warm welcome you gave me really helped! This is part 2, with a 3rd and final part to come.

For a while after they'd gone, he kidded himself that she'd come back. Maybe after she'd done her shopping, she'd come back and she'd explain to him why she'd slept with Martin and may be he could explain why he'd chosen his wife over her. And then may be he could tell her that although he hadn't chosen her, it wasn't because he hadn't wanted to with all his heart; it was because he hadn't had a choice, not really. He'd had to try for his children and although it hadn't been enough, he'd still had to try. And may be she could tell him that although she'd slept with Martin, it hadn't meant anything, not really.

As he sat in his ever-darkening office surrounded by silence, he pulled open his desk drawer and took out the small box he'd bought two days ago. He shouldn't have bought it, but it'd caught his eye, because somehow it reminded him of her. Closing his eyes he thought of how Christmas could have been if the choices he'd made had been different.

They'd be at her apartment; it was always her apartment. She'd have just gotten out of the shower. Her face would be slightly flushed from the heat, her blonde hair still damp, hanging loose around her shoulders. He'd be in the kitchen in his shirt-sleeves, cooking. She'd come and join him, pouring them each a drink and teasing him about the mess he was making. Then she'd watch him cook, sipping her wine and occasionally stealing some of the vegetables he was chopping as he went along.

And then maybe she'd move behind him, her hands tracing slow circles first around his shoulders and the back of his neck, and then drifting down his sides and then up and around his chest. He'd drop the knife on to the counter and turn to face her. They'd look at each other and then slowly he'd reach up and gently trail a finger along the outline of her face, revelling in the softness of her skin. And then they'd kiss, their tongues exploring gently at first, and then more insistently, as they pressed urgently against each other. And then dinner would be forgotten, as they frantically fumbled with each other's clothes, eventually ripping them off in their haste to get skin on skin.

But she hadn't come back and so he couldn't explain. And sadly he'd slipped the box into his jacket pocket, where it felt as cold as the snow outside. And suddenly he hadn't wanted to be alone in his office on Christmas Eve. So he'd gotten up from his desk and walked slowly to the conference room, limping slightly because it was late and he was tired. And now here he was, sitting at the table, listening to Bing Crosby and drinking far too much red wine, in the hope that he could forget.

Halfway down the bottle, he began to wonder if the wine had been such a good idea. Was his mind starting to play tricks, because suddenly 'she' was standing in front of him. Her coat was on the right buttons now, and she had two large carrier bags in her hands. Snowflakes glistened in her hair, and her nose and ears were red. She'd never looked more beautiful. And then she spoke and he knew that it wasn't the wine.

'I thought red wine gave you a headache' she said.

He grunted 'It does. You're the one who likes red'.

She nodded 'That's right I do'.

He pushed the half empty bottle towards her 'Help yourself' he said, his voice gruff.

Putting down her bags she took a seat opposite him and poured herself a small glass of wine.

'I can't stay' she said 'I only came back because I realised that there was something I forgot to do'. She hesitated, a little flustered now 'I .. er don't have much time, it's Christmas Eve, ya know?'.

He nodded, understanding. Years of analysing people enabling him to read between the lines even though he didn't want to.

'Martin's waiting for you' he said quietly, not meeting her eyes. Then remembering the grocery bags 'He's cooking you dinner at your apartment'.

Their eyes met and she swallowed hard.

'His apartment' she said.

'Right' he said. Of course Martin could take her to his apartment; he didn't have a wife and kids he had to hide her from. 'Neither do you now' a little voice in his head said, but it was too late, far too late.

'Look Jack' she began, but suddenly he didn't wanna hear it.

'You don't owe me an explanation. Who you see is your business' there was an edge to his voice now. He hadn't meant to get angry and yet he was. May be it was the wine, or may be it was the fact that she was so damn close and yet he still couldn't have her.

'You know what, you're right' she said, angry herself now. Pushing the bottle back towards him she got up from her seat and turned away, bending to pick up her bags.

'Sam, wait; please'.

The words were out before he'd even realised he'd said them. She stopped and let out a breath, but she didn't turn around

'Wait for what Jack?' she asked tiredly.

'I wanna …'he paused, the words that'd he practiced so many times were eluding him now 'I just want ….'

'That's right' she interrupted, turning to face him now 'It's always about what you want isn't it? It's always about you - your choices, your decisions, your family'.

He looked at her stricken 'Sam, I …'

'What about me Jack?'

'I'm sorry' he said 'I don't know what else to say. This is hard for me. Coming back here, seeing you again' he paused 'seeing you with him' he dropped his eyes.

'You think it's been easy for me?' she asked 'Damn it Jack, you left, you went to Chicago'.

He nodded 'I know' he said sadly.

She shook her head slowly 'I thought I was never gonna see you again, I had to get used to a life without you in it.'

'I see you made a start on that already' he said bitterly.

'That's not fair' she said 'You can't expect to just pick up where you left off. Things change, I've changed'.

He looked at her, his eyes sad 'And he's part of that change?'

She swallowed hard 'He puts me first' she said finally.

Jack sighed; he wanted her to be happy, wanted to be happy for her, but he couldn't bring himself to say it, not tonight.

'What about you Jack?' she asked 'Could you put me first?'

He took a slug of wine and didn't answer, his eyes dropping again to the table before him.

Slowly she took the few steps back towards him, stayed standing this time. He didn't respond.

'Don't you think you've had enough to drink?' she asked

He shrugged 'not even'

Letting out a breath, she reached out and placed a hand over his, her fingers automatically finding the cold, hardness of his wedding band. The heat of his skin, the closeness of his body sent tremors through her.

'I'm sorry things didn't work out for you in Chicago' she said softly.

'Do you love him?' he asked suddenly, his voice urgent, his grip tightening on her hand, his bloodshot eyes searching her face.

She felt her heart clench 'Not in the way I love you' she wanted to say. He was grouchy, dishevelled and he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, but even now, too far down a bottle of wine, with his five o'clock shadow and his jacket creased, he had a power over her that she couldn't explain. Martin was a good man, but Jack …. Well Jack was Jack. She'd never love anyone the way she loved Jack.

But she couldn't count on him. If Maria changed her mind, how could she be sure that he wouldn't go back to Chicago, just like that? She couldn't be sure and she knew it. But oh how she wanted him anyway.

She hadn't answered his question. That could mean only one thing. Letting go of her hand, he dropped his head into his hands, rubbing tiredly at the ache that had started to form at the bridge of his nose. He wondered why he was torturing himself in this way. He reached for the wine, but she stopped him by moving it away.

'You look tired' she said gently.

He looked up, stared at her standing there, holding the bottle of red wine in her hands.

'You look beautiful' he replied.

'Jack, please ..' she said, her voice trembling.

He was shaking himself, but he had to say it. Selfish as it was, he had to tell her how he felt.

'I've missed you' he said softly 'there isn't a minute goes by when I don't think of you, think of how it could have been, how I wish it still could be'.

There was silence. They looked at each other, both for a moment imagining what could be. Jack broke the silence first.

'I was stupid. I should never have gone'.

She let out a breath, put the bottle back down on the table 'You went for the kids'

'Yeah I went for the kids' he said 'but they'd be happy if I was happy'. He shook his head 'I'd never have been happy in Chicago'.

Their eyes met and he realised that she was crying.

'I'm sorry' he said 'Sorry I went, sorry I came back' he paused looking at her with a twist of a smile 'sorry I'm making you cry'.

She laughed through her tears 'How did we get to this?' she asked

He shrugged with a half smile, then turned serious 'I'm kinda more interested in where we go from here' he replied softly.

She stepped away from him, hugging her arms around her. She felt vulnerable, on the edge of stepping over a precipice from which there was no return. Was she ready to get hurt again? He was looking at her now, in that way that he did. His face, that could be so tough when he was interrogating a suspect, looked suddenly softer, younger, boyish even. She felt herself melting. And then she thought of Martin. He was always there when she needed him – when she'd shot the two kidnappers and was scared, so scared, when she'd cried over Jack leaving and there was nowhere else to go, no one else to go to. He was solid, safe, secure. What she had with Martin was good, healthy in a way no other relationship in her life had been. And she could grow to love him. Was she really ready to lose all that, to take a chance on a man who had screwed her and then left her for his wife.

A man who had willingly exchanged his life for hers; one dark night in a high street bookstore.

He could see the conflicting emotions mirrored in the expressions on her face

'I just need some time Jack' she said finally 'Please let me have that'.

He nodded 'Okay'

Running a hand through his hair, he took a steadying breath 'It's getting late' he said.

She nodded 'I have to go'.

'I'll walk you to the subway' he said, wincing slightly, as leaning heavily on the table, he struggled to his feet.

She noticed the brief flash of pain on his face 'Knee hurting?' she asked gently.

He thought about hiding it, but tonight had been a night of truths 'Always hurts when I'm tired' he admitted.

She offered him her arm 'In that case may be I should walk you to the subway'.

He grunted 'Yeah, may be you should'.

To Be Continued ….