Author's Note: Wow! I'm really blown away by the response I've been getting to this thing! I appreciate the wonderful feedback and will continue to add onto this because I've got what may be a functional plot fermenting in my brain and I really do love their situation, as cliche as I morph it into.

Chapter 2

Samantha and Martin pulled into the Newark train station at a quarter to one and left the rental car they'd purchased with a valet. Her exhaustion was so great that she could barely feel it any more, and when Martin told her to try and get some sleep while they waited for their train, her eyes burned when she tried to close them. He talked softly next to her, with his fingers locked around hers, but she couldn't hear him. Her thoughts were too loud, too overwhelming to let any of her senses work properly.

She was thinking about Jack. About the look in his eyes when he grabbed her arm. About the rasp in his voice that made eletrical sparks at the base of her spine. About the things he said to her, things she was too afraid to say herself, but that was why she loved him, for his bravery...

­...that was why she loved him...

She blinked, and her eyes stung sharply against her lids. She loved him. It was one of those things neither of them had talked about before, but suddenly, sitting there beneath a shower of flickering fluorescent lights, she realized that she did. She loved him.

Samantha wet her lips suddenly, and remembered the feel of his mouth upon hers. The corner of her mouth twitched.

Samantha?" She jerked out of her reverie and looked to her left. Martin held a cup of coffee in his hands. She frowned, not even remembering him getting up in the first place. "Coffee?"

"Yeah, thanks..." She took it and stirred the contents with a plastic rod, watching flakes of powdered creamer float in spirals at the surface.

What about Martin?

Samantha glanced sideways at his face, tilted back against the spine of the bench, eyes closed. Yes, she supposed she did love him. He was good to her, he respected her, gave her space and freedom when she asked for it. Martin wasn't the kind of man you'd have an affair with. Martin wasn't the kind of man you'd dream of tempting away from his family just to have him for yourself. Martin wasn't. But Jack was.

A woman's computer-generated voice echoed from the intercom overhead. "The 1:07 train from Newark to Penn Station, the North Jersey Coast Line, will arrive on-time in one and a half minutes. The 1:07 train from..."

Martin's eyes lifted open and he yawned, managing to smile at Samantha in what she considered an extremely grotesque combination of gaping mouth and turned up lips. She laughed in spite of herself. Martin grabbed his overnight duffel bag. "Let's not plan any trips to New Jersey in the near future."

"Fine by me," Samantha said weakly, even though she hadn't minded the Newark City Limits as much as she'd expected.

They were standing at the edge of the platform and Martin was holding her bag for her. She could hear the mechanical chugging of the 1:07 train to Penn Station grumbling in the distance, and a pleasant breeze blew back her messy hair. The lights of the front car appeared from around a curve in the landscape.

"Hey, Samantha..."

Surrounded by a billowing cloud of white steam, she could see the train pulling towards her and revelled at its speed. Her toes crossed the yellow, twelve-inch-thick cautionary line as she watched it racing towards her, slowing down but seeming to accelerate as the lights grew brighter.

"Samantha?"

The fluorescent lights shone on the slick metallic coat of the train as it flew closer, the noise drowning out all else. Her feet touched the edge of the platform as the lights blinded her and wind stirred up from the racing train raced into her clothes and hair and the noise and everything all combined produced the exhilaration of a lifetime.

"SAMANTHA!" Arms pulled her back and she stumbled into a warm body as her eyes blinked to try and comprehend what had happened. She looked up into Martin's concerned eyes. "What the hell, Sam?" He panted, more worried than upset. "There's a 'please do not stand beyond this point' line for a reason."

She shrugged sheepishly. "I used to do that as a kid. Quite a rush." Martin laughed nervously and wiped away the coffee he'd spilt on his sportsjacket. "Sorry."

"No problem. Are you ready to board?"

They carried their luggage and meandered through an empty passenger car before sitting down in two available seats near the window. Samantha handed Martin her bag and he secured it on a rack behind them. Suddenly, she froze. Martin must have noticed because he asked her, "You okay?"

"My purse." She looked up at him, brows furrowed.

"What?"

"My purse, Martin! I don't know where it is!"

"Did you put it in your duffel--"

"I don't know, help me check." They pulled her suitcase from the rack and Samantha ransacked it desperately. "It's not here! Oh, shit, Martin!" He rubbed her shoulders.

"It's okay, we'll file a report for it at the station when we get back." She shrugged off his hand, suddenly very tired and very irritable. "God, Sam, how much cash did you have in there?"

"Very nice, Martin," she snapped and walked to the end of the car. He threw up his hands and scratched his neck.

"Where're you going?"

"To check the platform!" Once off the train, she lit a cigarette and stood by the bench they'd been sitting at. Wonderful. Her cell phone was in that purse, her ID, her wallet, her badge... her badge. "Oh, God..."

"Miss?" Samantha looked up and faced an old man in a prim coat and tie. "We'll be pulling out soon. You'd better get aboard." She nodded and took the cigarette from her lips to look around again wistfully for her bag.

"All right," she sighed, and climbed onto the still open doorway to a few quick stairs. The wallet she could replace, she thought. And her license would be a pain to renew, but...

"SAM!" She whipped around so abruptly that her neck popped and twinged angrily in disgust. Samantha looked around, eyes wild; she was hearing things, surely, and the white clouds billowing from an air vent below herstung her eyes, but...

The steam cleared.

A warning siren indicating two minutes before departure sounded.

And Jack was running towards her from the other end of the terminal with a black, leather handbag in his hand.

A/N: It wouldn't be my kind of story if there weren't an aggravating little cliffhanger. Don't worry: I won't keep you waiting long. :-)