Title: February
Author: Katerina
Rating: PG
Pairing: J/S, of course… with mentions of M/S
Disclaimer: They're really not mine. Trust me.
Author's Notes: This has (wait for it) plot! Or at least an attempt at it. It takes place just after the end of Season 2, and goes into and alternate universe after that. Please read and review, and I promise I'll love you all forever…
Prologue
She wakes to the soft shush of waves on the shore, and the faint taste of salt on her lips.
Pale yellow light is sneaking through the blinds by her bed, and she judges that it is a little after six. Early, but not too early when she is in bed every night by nine.
She stretches once, twice, then slides out from under the covers and pads towards the door. The early morning air is soft and cool on her skin as she steps out onto the porch, but there is a certain brightness to the sky that hints at a hot day to come.
It is early February. She can't quite get used to that.
She takes another deep breath of the salt air, leaning on the weathered porch railing and raising her face to the slight breeze. From here, she can see across the short stretch of scrubby grass that fills the space from the house to the edge of the bluff. The ground drops away sharply after that, but not for long; ten feet down lies golden sand all the way to the sea.
Every morning, she picks her way down the steps worn into the rock until she reaches the sand, and begins to walk. Sometimes she stays close to the cliff face as it gradually melts into dunes; other times she strays closer to the surf, paddling and getting her cuffs wet. She always walks towards the jetty, and the tiny town clustered around it, and she knows why: if he were to come, that would be the first place she would see him. She imagines it, most mornings, as she walks. She sees him pause at the edge of the town's main street, just where it runs past the stone retaining wall by the sand. She watches silently as he surveys the ocean, and then takes several careful steps onto the beach. At this point she always smiles, because she can't help but imagine him in his black suit, his shoes filling with sand. In her head, though, he is not bothered as he looks slowly from left to right, from the jetty to where she stands in the water or by the dunes. He sees her, finally, and he smiles.
That's where she stops walking, right before she reaches the place he should be standing. She stops, and waits for a moment, scanning the beach unconsciously for a figure in black. He's not there, and she's not surprised as she turns away and makes for home.
It's probably not entirely healthy, she thinks.
XXXXX
It's February, and in New York the snow is falling, the wind is howling and the forecasters are having a field day.
In his office on the twenty-second floor of the FBI building, Jack Malone is entirely oblivious.
The file in front of him is not new, and it is not thick, either. Dated some three years previously, it holds nothing more than a dog-eared photograph, several pages of typed interviews, and a character summary for the file's subject.
It is February the fourteenth today, and this is how Jack has celebrated it for three years.
One elbow propped on his desk, hand supporting his head and clamping the phone to his ear at the same time, he allows his eyes to drift closed as he listens to the endless repeat of classical 'hold' music. By the end of the day – it's always the same – he finds himself humming Beethoven's Fifth on the subway as he travels home; for a long time now, that piece of music has been inextricably linked with her.
Unfortunately, his days spent on fruitless calls and searches, his hours poured away in front of that file, are not limited to Valentine's.
It's probably not entirely healthy, he thinks.
A sharp knock on the door startles him, and he jerks upright, eyes flying open as he nearly drops the phone.
"Come in," he calls, cutting off both Beethoven's Fifth and his hopes mid-stream as he replaces the handset.
It's Vivien, looking cautious, sad and worried all at once, as she always does when she knows he's looking at the file.
"We've got a lead on the Anderson case," she says, and waits.
With a sigh, he nods and stands. With careful, almost gentle movements, he shuts the manila folder on Samantha Spade's smiling face, and locks it safely in his desk drawer.
End
Prologue