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: Thanks to Mariel for posting. The reference to Sam needing a smoke in this chapter comes from her fantastic story, Smoke – I didn't mean to steal it, it just sort of fit.
Chapter One
July, 2003.
This is how it starts…
He was pretty sure she was sleeping with Martin. It put an odd… spin on things, really, because here he was, ostensibly free for the first time in too many years, and she was sleeping with somebody else.
His subordinate, his mind supplied, and he wondered just how much more of an ass he could be.
Things were fine when he left for Chicago, to help the girls and Marie settle in and maybe to convince her to let him stay. That plan was abandoned pretty quickly, however, once Marie politely but firmly booted him out after a week. So he returned to New York, craving the comfort it always gave, and found things completely screwed up.
Sam was sleeping with Martin. He could tell from the moony-eyed looks, the blushes, the meaningful glances.
Unfortunately, they weren't from Sam.
He'd never truly realized what a dope Martin was.
Jack came across her in the break room, a week after he'd returned to work. She was staring into a mug of coffee, watching the swirls of creamer in the dark liquid.
"Sam?"
She jumped, startling him and sloshing a hot, milky river across the table. She looked from him to the spill and back, bewildered; he smiled slightly, and collected a handful of napkins from a nearby counter.
"Sorry." His voice was intentionally softer, because he could almost see the pounding of her heart under her shirt.
She shook her head quickly, gathering her wits. "I was thinking." She smiled slightly, offering it as if expecting it to be thrown back in her face.
"Must've been deep," he returned, dumping soaked napkins in the bin. She merely shook her head again, recrossed her legs, and began picking at her cuticles.
She looked like she desperately needed a smoke.
He took the seat opposite her, and finally managed to meet her eyes. When he did, she seemed to deflate.
"Yeah," he answered the unspoken question. "I know."
She nodded, slowly, biting her lip.
"Jack, I…" She stopped then, and gave a little half-sigh. Her look was part guilt, part sorrow, and she let him drink his fill of it before she left.
End Chapter One