Title: Fireworks
Fandom: Without a Trace
Pairing: Jack/Sam
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: I don't own Without a Trace. Wish I did, but I don't.

She can almost hear the cracking echo through the calm night air. They may start up some time soon, the explosions that light up the sky with radiant colors and patterns. Some insignificant way to celebrate the fourth day of the seventh month, each and every year. But it's raining now, the patter of the water colliding with the windows being the dominant sound in the nearly-deserted office. She doesn't know much about fireworks, but she's pretty sure they can't be set off in the rain.

Thinking to herself, she realizes that that's not entirely true at all. She knows a lot about fireworks, the spark that occurs when you look at someone you care about, or feel a deep desire for. These fireworks can ignite day or night, rain or shine. And they're not designated to one specific day every year.

Her thoughts bring her gaze from the window to the soft glow of the light in his office. Never were the fireworks so bright and alive than when she looked at him and he returned her stare. Two souls colliding, creating an unknown and unseen energy. She misses that. She wants to feel those fireworks again.

She rests her forehead against the cool glass, watching the moisture slide down the window as gravity pulls it towards the busy streets below. She's entranced by her breath hitting the glass and condensing, only to disappear a beat later.

"Hey, it's almost midnight, what are you still doing here, Sam?" His voice is laced with concern and a natural curiostiy, and thick from underuse. His cadence sends a shiver down her spine, and she pulls back from the glass just far enough to meet his eyes in the reflection of the window.

"Just finishing up the paper work on the Griggs case, Jack," she replies simply, her eyes catching his image and holding on tightly, praying for the fireworks to spark, grasping at a fleeting memory of a time long past. The rain comes down harder and the sound dances between them, her back still to him. He closes the distance, standing a few inches behind her, effectively invading her personal space. The match is lit.

"Too bad it's raining. I heard there were supposed to be some nice firework displays tonight." His breath tickles her ear, his lowered voice sending heat coursing through her veins. The fuse is lit.

"Ya, it's too bad. I haven't seen fireworks in a long time. Not much anyone can do about it though," she replies, her voice light, almost breathy. She can feel his warmth envelope her, all over her senses going into overdrive. The smell of him, the mere nearness of him, is driving her crazy. The gunpowder heats.

"I don't know about that," his lips are a breath away from her ear, and she feels each puff of air he exhales. She wants him, she needs him. Her eyes remain fixed on his reflection and she can clearly see the desire within his own eyes, barely restrained. Restraint has always been highly overrated. She turns slowly and faces him, their body mere inches apart, brushing against each other every time they inhaled or exhaled in sync. The products react.

His hand raises tentatively to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, lingering as it runs itself through her hair, skimming around her neck, and resting against her cheek. The colors explode in a uniformed chaos.

"Happy Forth of July, Sam," he whispers gently, his thumb running over her skin lightly.

"Happy Fifth of July, actually," she breathes out, noting that the clock reads 12:02 a.m. He smirks at her, his thumb running against her lips and gaining the expected reaction.

"Smart ass."