Event Horizon
Disclaimer: The characters and associated show don't belong to me. The words, however, are mine and I will weave them as I wish.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None.
Pairing: You're about to step into a figurative puddle of J/S.
Feedback: I didn't say I was good at it, but I'm a huge fan.
Summary: The elegant universe.
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Event Horizon: The one-way surface of a black hole, once it is penetrated the laws of gravity ensure that there is no turning back, no escaping the powerful gravitational grip.
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03. Reflections on Cosmology
She really wanted to find this guy, but she hated this part of the job; you can't find out what type of person you're searching for by reading their phone bills and bank statements. These things won't say what makes him cry, the name of the little pig-tailed girl that broke his heart in second grade, or who loves him. Interviews she could deal with, but the constant examination of a person's life just bothered her for some reason. Certain parts of a person's life should stay private, and she never liked keeping secrets anyway. Secrets. She glanced across the table at Jack. In spite of just what secret she was keeping to herself, she smiled. She smiled and closed her eyes. Just for a second, she told herself.
She sifted through recent moments of her own life. She saw her and Jack eating dinner together a few days ago; the flicker from the candles was nothing compared to what shone in his eyes, and that was when she realized just how much she loved him. It wasn't the first time, but it was the only time she could remember not being ashamed for having these feelings.
"Jack," her tone had his attention immediately, "let's get out of here."
He didn't hesitate, "Yeah."
She had looked at him once before that way; he had ended up with a bruise the size of a coconut on his back from the doorknob on her front door and raw kneecaps from the carpet in her living room. He couldn't stop her if he wanted to but it was really quite wonderful.
He took care of the check and she took care of their coats. In no time at all they were standing outside the restaurant waiting for a cab. The same wind that's blowing him up and down the sidewalk could do her no wrong. He feels a little part of his life skitter away along her surface; he thinks this might be the beginning of an end and he'd really like to see this one through. They stare each other in the eye, waiting for the other to break. She wins.
He ends his momentary delve into her eyes, and chuckles, "Yes?"
She smiles and looks down, "You're standing in a puddle, Jack."
He glances down, shrugs, and looks back at her, "That's a new one."
"New?"
"You make me forget things sometimes. It could be my car keys, my coat, or to watch where I'm walking. I think about you and everything else just slides to my periphery."
Her response is cut off when he manages to catch a cab. He walks over to the car, opening the door for her, "Ladies first … Sam."
He gets in after her and the taxi pulls away from the curb; there's no going back now.
She turns to him, the seat squeaking in response, and runs her fingers through his hair; with her finger tips on the back of his neck she starts tapping the opening chords of 'Eleanor Rigby', "Before you, no one ever called me Sam."
"Really?"
She nods her head "It was always Samantha."
He turns to her, and starts tracing the pinstripes on her pants with the palm of his hand, "Well, you know what they say."
She gives him a quizzical look, trying to get a clear glimpse of his face underneath the ephemeral glow of streetlights, and eases closer to him.
He smirks while he brushes a wisp of windblown hair away from her face, "There's nothing quite like the feel of something new."
"Sam?"
"Sam, did you find something?"
She opens her eyes and sees Jack's inquisitive gaze inches from her face. She used to get so lost in those eyes. Now she's just lost. Looking around, she notices they're the only two left at the table.
"Nothing relevant."
He nods, expecting as much.
"Why don't you call it a night? It's late, we'll get an early start tomorrow."
She stands up and tries to make sense of all the paperwork that is laid out in front of her. Giving up trying to make sense of yet something else, she dumps the papers on her desk, and grabs her coat and purse. On her way out she stops at Jack's office.
"Hey."
He stops sliding his coat on and looks at her, "Hey."
"You, uh, up for some dinner?"
Pulling his coat on, he looks down while buttoning it, "I can't, sorry. Marie. Dinner with her and the kids."
It's her 'ton of bricks', "Yeah. Okay."
Last ditch rescue attempt, "Sam--"
"You know," she looks at him but she's staring so far away, "I don't like keeping secrets."
01. More Dimensions Than Meet the Eye
She loves places like this, she thought. She shook the rain from her coat and took a minute so her senses could take in everything. 'What's Going On?' was blaring from the out-of-date jukebox so loud there wasn't much room for anything else. The lights were bright enough that she could make out the silhouettes of people but dim enough that she couldn't see their faces. After time spent peeking into the most private aspects of peoples' lives the anonymity was refreshing. It was nice to glance at a stranger and not know everything little detail about them. She took her usual corner table with two walls and enough smoke and darkness to make her comfortable. After the waitress, some words, a brief silence, a napkin, a bottle on top of the napkin, and more words, she was alone.
Sometimes she wonders if she comes here looking for something. What could she want from here? It wasn't the 'I'd-like-to-know-your-type' look she got from the guys and it definitely wasn't the 'I-know-your-type' look she got from women. Picking apart her damp napkin, which really serves no purpose and just ends up shredded and stuck to some empty bottle, she thinks that she may not be cut out for this job. It definitely takes a toll on people; she only had to see Jack once to find out that. She tries not to think about Jack too much, not that hard though. He's married, on paper at least, but he and his wife's hearts have been separate for longer than either of them probably realize. Not everyone is cut out to be a husband or a father; he does try though. That's all you can do when everything is falling apart. He's cut out for her, she thinks, they're cut out for each other. Between her job and her restlessness he would just complicate things. She wonders how many times she's lied to herself, that she should start believing the lies sometime.
Suddenly a hand's on her shoulder; she stands and reaches for her weapon by instinct, and even though her firearm is still holstered she's got a tight grip on the butt and a tense thumb on the hammer. The air changes though, or stays the same and she's just now realized; Jack's there.
"Relax. I'm one of the good guys."
She turns around, he offers her a small smirk, "That remains to be seen Jack."
He looks confused, "Okay. Mind if I sit?"
It's funny that he said that because his jacket's already off and he's already sitting down to her left. She's still standing up with a hand on her weapon. Sitting back down, she doesn't say anything.
"I knew you'd be here. Thought you'd like some company."
Leaning closer than she should to her boss, her married boss, "I'd like a lot of things."
The lights are dim but she can see him blush, it spreads like fire down his neck and underneath his opened collar and loosened tie. She stifles the urge to chase the path of his blush with her tongue and moans quietly.
It was loud enough for Jack to hear, "How much have you had?"
She bites back her innuendo-laden comment, "Half a watered down beer. Possibly enough second hand smoke to choke a horse."
He looks around, "Good thing no horses are here."
She smiles, "That's good, huh?"
The waitress comes back with another beer for her and takes Jack's order. On her way from the table she turns around, gives Jack a smile, and spins back around. Sam quirks an eyebrow; Jack just shrugs his shoulders.
"I asked her for a favor."
"You get a lot of favors from women you hardly know?"
He laughs as he's rolling his right shirtsleeve up, "Nah. I have a hard enough time getting favors from women I do actually know."
"Try asking, Jack."
He looks at her; they look at each other, until the waitress impolitely clears her throat. She empties the contents of her tray on the table and leaves. Sam finds herself looking at Jack's wedding ring through the golden tint of a large bottle; he may wear the ring on his finger but it's a weight around her neck. The word 'especial' emblazoned on the label combined with the color point to one thing.
"Tequila, Jack? You want to do shots?"
Having apparently made up her mind for her, Jack already has the glasses filled and several lime wedges on hand. The saltshaker, mysteriously enough, was already at the table.
"Yeah. It'll be fun."
She eyes the shot glass skeptically, "There are other ways to have fun."
"Not much of a drinker? If you can't handle it, that's fine."
She doesn't let anyone tell her what she can and can't handle; she rolls up her sleeves and scoots her chair closer to Jack.
"This," she picks up the saltshaker and holds out her left wrist, "is nothing. You have no idea what you're in for."
Just as she's about to bring her wrist to her mouth Jack grabs her arm.
Pulling her arm towards him, "I want to know," he licks her wrist, almost achingly slow "what I'm in for."
His tongue was hot and wet; the feel of it on her wrist makes her throb. She just stares at him, saltshaker poised in mid-shake, and wonders what's happening. She can practically see the word 'complicated' above their heads; she might be able to touch it. The place he licked she will always refer to as 'Jack's spot', even after all this is over. She knows it won't last. Just like the beginning was inevitable, so is the ending.
She sprinkles salt on 'Jack's spot', licks the salt, downs the shot, and bites into the lime wedge that Jack's holding for her. It goes down almost as easily as the lies she's been telling herself about Jack. She takes the wedge from her mouth and puts it on a napkin.
His voice is low, heavy with something, "Good?"
Sometimes she'd like to be able to leave work and actually leave it, "It was … nice."
He looks slightly offended, squinting his eyes, "Nice?"
She doesn't do well with self-pity. Raising her eyebrows, she shoves the lone full shot glass towards him; the loose salt on the table grinds underneath making a gritty noise.
"Your turn. All work and no play--"
He cuts her off while picking up the saltshaker, "Make Jack a dull boy. Is this work or play?"
He surprises himself, but not her, by asking a direct question. She feels like she's being interrogated. Ever since she met him she's wanted him. She wanted to know what he wanted to be when he grew up, to trace the scar on his knee with her index finger while asking questions he's probably heard a million times, and to have his breath on the back of his neck when she slept. He needs to make the choice though.
She hopes her voice doesn't sound as shaky as it seems, "You tell me."
He takes her wrist again; when he licks it he's looking her dead in the eye. This time, however, he licks from her wrist to the pad of her thumb, and then suddenly her index finger is in his mouth, causing her throbbing to switch to pounding.
Clearing her throat, she takes his shot glass and downs it, "Play it is."
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04. Of Warps and Ripples
"Dad, Kate's throwing her crayons at me again!"
He was seriously regretting his decision to take his daughters to breakfast. Since the divorce he hasn't seen them much. With Marie out of town he's been seeing a whole lot of them the past two days. With a mental sigh Jack turned towards his youngest daughter.
"Kate. What'd I tell you about that?"
"But Daddy," she says as she looks at him with huge brown eyes that all but dare him to scold her. He gives in and hopes no one is keeping score.
"Fine. Just go pick them up, okay? Don't bother any people while they're eating."
Kate smiles, "I'll hurry up!"
She gets down from her chair and looks on the floor around their table for errant crayons.
"Why'd she have to bring those dumb crayons anyway?"
"Hannah--"
"She's always making a mess and she never gets in trouble. It's so unfair!"
"I will tell you what's fair and what's unfair. Cut your sister a break."
Hannah crosses her arms, eerily resembling Marie. Jack didn't think it was possible to inherit an attitude.
"Fine. Is the food going to be here soon?"
"We ordered five minutes ago. I don't think--"
"Daddy! Look!"
Eager to escape a situation that has a possibility of turning into another argument, he turns to his other daughter. She has the stray crayons in her left hand. Her other hand is holding the hand of a woman. Jack's gaze travels up the stranger's arm, shoulder, and finally to her face. It's Samantha, of all the people for her daughter to find. This must be the 'other life'.
She awkwardly smiles, "I think she belongs to you."
He blushes, "Yeah. How'd you know?"
"She has your eyes."
"Yeah, that's why my ex-wife married me. The eyes."
She raises her eyebrows, "That's too bad. All those other parts wasted."
He shrugs, "They're bum parts anyway."
"Depends who's looking."
Clearing his throat, "Was she bothering you?"
Turning to Kate, "I told you to leave people alone while they're eating, honey. You can't--"
"But Daddy," he wasn't going to do this again.
"No buts Kate. You have to listen when people talk. I want you to--"
"No, it's all right."
He turns back to Sam. He narrows his eyes and tries to figure out what exactly she's doing.
"I'm sorry, Samantha--" he gestures the air with his hand.
"Sam, Jack." she offers shyly.
"Sam. I don't want to encourage her--"
"I'm not. Maybe you should start listening when you talk."
"Excuse me?"
Sam bends down and whispers into Kate's ear. To Sam's credit, Kate smiles the biggest smile he's seen in a while.
"Daddy?" Kate draws out his name in the way only a child can.
"Yes?"
She hesitates, looks up at Sam who nudges her with her elbow, and then says, "She wasn't eating."
He's confused, "What?"
"You said not to bother no one if they were eating. She," she points at Sam, "Sam wasn't eating."
"Ah," an eight year old and her accomplice have outsmarted him.
"Also she helped my find my fire crayon." She says matter-of-factly.
Jack's brows knit in confusion, "Fire crayon?"
"Oh," Sam smiles and holds up a red crayon, "it's fire engine red. The color."
"Kate, did you thank Sam?"
"She did more than that."
Looking at Sam, he urges her to continue.
"I told her she could eat with us. Is that okay, Daddy? Please?"
He's about to apologize when Sam starts speaking.
She gestures towards the front door, "I can't; I have some stuff to do."
Kate interrupts before he can respond, "I need to go to the bathroom."
He turns to Hannah, "Take your sister to the bathroom. Keep an eye on her, please."
"Dad,"
"Because you're the oldest and I trust you. That's why."
Her father's response seems acceptable; she takes Kate's hand and heads towards the bathroom.
"So," he fiddles with his redundant wedding ring, "thanks for returning my wayward daughter to me."
She laughs; the sound envelops me like a warm blanket.
"Don't worry about it," she extends the 'fire engine red' crayon to him, "I was a little wayward when I was younger too."
"Somehow," as he takes the crayon from her his fingertips brush against the palm of her hand for a moment and something passes between them, "that doesn't surprise me."
Whether what passed between them was a piqued interest, a mutual attraction, or even lust he's not sure but it's enough to make him rise to his feet. Just how much he's missed her seems to crash down on him all at once. He lets go of her hand and it's almost like an insult. She picks up one of Kate's drawings from the table and looks at it.
She glances at him over the picture, "It needs something."
Picking up another crayon from the table she leans over and writes something on the picture. She puts the crayon down just as quickly; with a nod and a smile she turns around and leaves.
"Is the food here yet? I'm starving?"
His daughter's voice is the only thing that stops him from following Sam out of the restaurant. Before he gets a chance to think about that too much the waitress arrives with their food. He starts gathering the crayons and loose papers when he sees the drawing that Samantha was looking at. He takes it as he sits back down, and looks for whatever she added to the picture. He doesn't see anything and thinks he may have the wrong picture; then he sees it. It's written in the bottom, left corner buried among yellow flowers and green grass.
Written in elegant but bold script: 'Miss you. Call me? Sam.'
He immediately decides that 'fire engine red' is his new favorite color and that he's suddenly feeling a little wayward himself.