Hi folks. First time writing WaT worth publishing. You may remember me from such fandoms as Roswell, CSI, X-Men and Buffy, but if you don't, that's cool too.
I own not Sam, Jack, Martin, or anything else I accidentally mentioned and forgot about.
Hi to Kat! I love you sweetie.
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Samantha hasn't had a cigarette in six years.
She hasn't had a cigarette in six years, and she can't say she's thought about having one in at least four. Well, yeah, the odd thought here and there, a chat at parties about cravings, but not really. For four years, she's been one of the people calling it a disgusting habit and occasionally bringing up the metaphor about licking an ash tray.
As she watches the smoke curl into the still air before trailing off into the atmosphere, she can't bring herself to care.
It's been a shit of a day. A shit of a week, month, year, whatever. But today… today really wins a prize. She'd finally made her choice, chosen to really commit to this thing with Martin. To see how far it would go and then make another choice, rather than exist in this fucking limbo. Only to find he'd made another choice, and it involved leaving her.
The irony is just divine. She'd laugh, if the whole thing wasn't so fucking ridiculous. Instead she inhales deeper on her next breath and watches the smoke begin a slow drift away.
It's not so much Martin, though. Even after her decision, she has to admit that she doesn't, didn't, really care overly much about him. He was safe, that was the thing. Safe, and young, and easily attainable, and just so… not-Jack.
That, of course, is both a bonus and a minus. Not-Jack, so he doesn't have a wife or children and he isn't her boss. Not-Jack, so he… isn't Jack. Not that Jack is doing much to recommend himself lately, of course.
She hadn't known he'd known, but she had suspected. Suspected, but not wanted to believe, and really, who could blame her? He'd separated from his wife, he no longer needed to worry about their effect on his relationship with his children. He was her boss, that hadn't changed, but… wasn't it possible to work around that, somehow? Discretion, secrecy, a transfer, something, anything? Wasn't there some way that now, finally, with so many obstacles out of the way, they could finally work out?
When she'd walked away from Martin, she'd thought maybe. Unlikely, but maybe. But when Jack had said… what he'd said… no. No chance. With an attitude like that, why even try?
She suppresses the urge to hope he's jealous. He's moved on, and she's left herself wide open to damage from all sorts of areas. That's all there is to it, and now she needs to work on moving on. She fiddles the cigarette in her left hand and thinks idly about a transfer to 'Cisco or Vegas, Chicago, anywhere but here. She probably won't do it, at least not yet, but just to think about it makes the air seem a little lighter, the world a little less enclosing, threatening.
But Jack… Jack… she can't leave him. She wants to, she should, it's for the best, and in all the ways that count, she already has.
The ways that don't count include the way he looks at her when he thinks she's not looking. The ways that don't count include the way her heart still thuds when he's around her. The ways that don't count include the way the air gets hot and hard to breathe when they're in the same room together.
She can't leave him. Not yet.
She draws the cigarette to her lips again and inhales, then gags. It's burnt out, all ash and filter, and when she drops the stub, the wind picks it up and sweeps it away.
