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: Okay, sorry for the delay. I'm lazy, and I have no excuse ;-) . Anyway, here 'tis, and once again thanks to Mariel for posting and feedback!
Chapter Two
After her walk, safely back in her little shack, she digs through the contents of her fridge for breakfast. It is, uncharacteristically, full of food; she likes shopping now that she has the time for it, and spends too many hours a week at the local supermarket. It doesn't have the variety she is used to, but everything is stunningly fresh, the produce of nearby farms. Today, she cooks herself bacon and eggs, and serves them on toast made from homemade bread.
Well, not her homemade, her neighbor Meredith is the one who deals with that, but homemade all the same.
Really, all she misses is decent coffee. Sometimes, she dreams of Starbucks.
XXXXX
Jack catches a cab from the office to his apartment, when he would usually take the subway. But the weather is a little too wild even for him, and he remembers how Sam used to hate the cold.
The file is burning a hole in his briefcase.
He pays the cabbie with a hurried handful of bills, calculating the tip and adding a bit more with the ease of long practice. He moves quickly through the lobby, past the idle doormen, and takes the elevator to his floor, tapping his foot with every stop and delay.
Opening his door, he shucks shoes, coat and scarf as he flicks the light switch; thankfully, the heat has been on most of the day and the tiny apartment is toasty warm.
Briefcase in one hand, he tugs his tie loose and drapes it over the back of a chair as he passes. The case gets left on the table as he heads into the kitchen, where he brews a pot of coffee. He'll need it before the night is out.
XXXXX
An hour later, and papers cover the surface of the table. He has collected his own, private, file from the tiny safe in his bedroom, and as he slouches against the couch, legs splayed before him, he opens it carefully.
There is no photo in this file, no statements on official FBI letterhead. Instead, lined pages are covered in his own scrawl, black and bold on cheap cream.
It is a list of dates, a few key comments beside them. There are a dozen here, for now; he adds them as he remembers.
On these pages, he has noted every strange thing Sam did in the eight months before she disappeared.
Oddly, there are no moments listed before she-
He cuts that thought off, flat. He does not think about Him, ever.
July 2003 is the first on the list. September of that year is the second.
XXXXX
September 2003.
Jack watched her, and she knew it. Outwardly, as far as he could see, it didn't seem to affect her. She was quiet, oddly so, her usual sharp tongue well hidden, but she never reacted to his scrutiny. Martin was not so lucky; he blushed, and was awkward, and sometimes looked at Jack, if he was feeling brave, with a hint of challenge in his eyes.
There was ownership there, too; Jack saw it in the way Martin brushed his hand against Sam's, or leant into her space, or hovered while she prepared to leave at night.
Jack spotted it, and knew it for what it was. He knew, because once he'd done the same things.
But Sam…
She didn't welcome it, or reject it. She was absolutely passive. And it drove him nuts.
So nuts, in fact, that he didn't notice what he was looking for; a pair of chocolate eyes flicking his way every time Martin came near.
However, he noticed well enough when he came upon Sam sitting in his office when he arrived early one morning.
She was systematically shredding a Kleenex when he opened the door, and she jumped at the sound.
"Sam?"
She looked up, her face oddly white even though her eyes were calm.
"Jack. I just… do you have a minute?"
He nodded, settled in the chair behind the desk, and waited.
She didn't speak.
He still waited, knowing she would crack before he did.
"It's… oh, God," she whispered at last, proving him right. "Jack, I know you know about… that." He flinched slightly, and she hurried on, "I have to tell you. It's about him. He-"
And then she stopped. After a second, she shook her head. "Forget it," she said, and left. He didn't press her to stay. There was no reason to, then.
End
Chapter 2