Snowbound, Part 12
By RocknVaughn

A/N: Sorry it's been so long since I've updated! Between real life issues taking over and my temporary obsession with American Idol 5 (Soul Patrol!), I haven't had much of any free time to write. However, this story has been on my mind and I am continuing to work on it...even if sometimes it's only in my head. I'll certainly try to update more often than say, every 5 months! (grin) Thanks to you all for sticking with this story. It means a lot!

- - -

So much for a truce… Sam mentally fumed as he yanked the sleeping bag out from under the bench seat and stormed toward the hearthrug at the foot of the stone fireplace. How dare she? How dare she act as if I were the one to wrong her? She was the one who lied to me!

Sam unrolled the bag and flicked it open so hard that the sound—snap!—echoed around the walls of the small cabin.

As he lay the bag down facing toward the hearth, Sam could swear he could feel Josie's eyes burning a hole through his back, but just as he was about to turn as ask her what the hell her problem was…the feeling subsided. Letting a long breath hissing out from between clenched teeth, he bent down, grabbed the metal poker on the hearthside and began stoking the fire with a vengeance he had no other outlet for.

- - -

Josie grasped onto the edge of the rough-hewn table as if it were a lifeline while she allowed her misery to silently drip off her cheeks and nose, plinking in tiny splashes against the wooden surface. She could hear Sam's furious movements from behind her, could feel the waves of his anger and resentment rippling toward her, echoing through her.

Josie knew she'd been foolish to even hope that she and Sam could be civil to each other under such forced circumstances. It was blatantly obvious that at that moment, Sam Coulson wanted nothing more than to be rid of his unexpected houseguest.

But, her mind insisted, if he didn't want you here, why then did he invite you? Manners or not, there had been absolutely no obligation for Sam to house her during this storm. Indeed, the more she thought about his invitation, the more it puzzled her. The thought brought her back to her conversation with Anita. Was it possible that she was right? Could Sam be deliberately playing with her emotions to get back at her for what she'd done to him?

Closing her eyes, her memory easily conjured up the look on Sam's face as his eyes connected with hers through the window. His look was so…raw, so…unguarded that she found that theory hard to swallow. Sam Coulson would have to be some kind of acting savant to pull that look off without meaning it. Especially considering how quickly he hid those emotions once he realized she could see them.

Indeed, every time Josie thought she'd seen a hint of a kinder emotion on Sam's face, he'd gone out of his way to hide it behind a mask of anger or impatience, which led Josie to believe that those emotions were real.

Yet, every attempt Josie had made at getting to those fleeting emotions had been met with resistance and rejection: rejection that caused her a little more pain each time. Already her heart was heavy and aching from the blows it had sustained in the past few hours…and it was possible she could be in Sam's company for several more days.

Josie shook her head sadly and wiped the wetness from her face with the sleeve of her thick terrycloth robe. While she still felt that the fight for Sam's heart was worth undertaking, she didn't know how much more pain she could endure before it became too much to bear.

She stared at the full mug of tea in front of her for several moments, watching the steam rise from it in swirling tendrils. Her appetite for her favorite tea now dissipated in the wake of Sam's anger, she turned on her slippered heel and padded from the kitchen, leaving the cup on the table, untouched.

- - -

Meanwhile, Sam had yanked the zipper of the sleeping bag down so quickly, it sounded like a swarm of angry bees. He threw himself between the padded covers, grabbed a pillow from the closest armchair and punched it more ferociously than necessary to soften the material inside for his head to rest upon. Shoving the battered square under his head, he flopped roughly onto his side so that his broad back now faced the kitchen doorway. He had no interest in seeing or hearing Josie for the rest of the night…indeed, for the rest of his life!

Still, his senses instantly picked up on Josie's movement behind him, even though the slippers on her feet made her footsteps nearly silent. Sam's entire body tensed and his heart pounded as the footsteps stopped for a long moment. He could feel her gaze burning a hole through his back, but he steadfastly refused to acknowledge her presence. Finally, the feeling of being watched left him and he heard Josie's padded feet shuffle off into the bedroom.

He let out a long breath and rolled over onto his back, staring at the crossbeams on the ceiling without really seeing them. Without Josie present as a target, his anger gave way to pain, which gave way to painful memory.

- - -

The first month after Josie's revelation had been torture for Sam, because there were still four weeks of school left to teach. Just walking the same halls and teaching in the same classrooms that had once had Josie in them was like one, long unending nightmare. It seemed as if a memory of her was lurking around every corner. There didn't seem to be anywhere in the school that didn't, in some way, remind him of her.

It was the worst, of course, in his senior Lit class; the one that Josie had once been a part of. It was hard staring at the empty seat in the front row and not think of her. But moreover, it appeared that Aldys, at least, had realized that he was the teacher that Josie had written about, because whenever he made eye contact with her during class, there was always a hint of reproach in her eyes.

For a while, he'd thought he'd been imagining Aldys' reaction, but after their last day of class, there could be no doubt.

- - -

As the bell rang to signal the end of the last class for his seniors, he wished them all good luck as they began to whoop and file noisily out of the room. However, Aldys Wells took her time gathering up her things. As the room fell silent, she finally swung her huge backpack onto her shoulder, but instead of heading toward the door, she made a beeline for his desk. He looked up at her expectantly.

"Yes, Aldys? Can I help you with something? Was the reference I gave you all right?"

A look of momentary surprise flitted across Aldys' face before her inscrutable look returned. "Oh…yes, it was fine, thanks." She paused momentarily and then plunged ahead, "Actually…I have something I wanted to give you."

He'd cocked an eyebrow in surprise as he smiled. "Really? That's nice, Aldys…but I assure you it's not necessary…"

"Actually, I think it is. You see, I think you've made a terrible mistake."

Sam's heart began to pound, but his voice remained steady. After all, it was quite possible this had nothing at all to do with Josie. "What do you mean?"

Aldys leaned in closer, and her voice dropped to almost a whisper. "I think you know what I mean, Mr. Coulson."

His smile faded as her topic of discussion became crystal clear. "Aldys…I know she was a friend of yours, but I'm afraid there are some things you just don't know about her."

"Respectfully sir, it's you who doesn't know what they need to know about Josie. Did you even read her article?"

A panicky, cornered feeling pressed against Sam's chest, making it hard to breathe. Putting on his sternest teacher façade, he began, "I really don't think that's any of your…"

But Aldys' steely voice cut him off mid-sentence. "So, you did then." She shook her head sadly, almost as if she pitied him. After a moment, she continued, "You know, Mr. Coulson…I always looked up to you. You made learning fun, really interesting. But more than that, you seemed to be someone who knew things, who understood life…and love. That knowledge seemed to infuse all that you taught. But if you could willingly throw away the great love of your life without even giving it a chance…then it seems I misjudged you."

Sam stared at Aldys for a long moment, speechless. The phrase "great love of your life" kept replaying over and over inside his head. Finally, he sputtered, "But…wait a minute…I didn't…"

Aldys didn't bother waiting for his reply. She just waved a hand to stop his protest and said firmly, "Goodbye, Mr. Coulson," before dropping a sealed envelope on his desk, turning on her heel, and walking out without looking back.

On the envelope was simply written "Sam"…in Josie's handwriting. Dumbfounded, he sat for several moments holding it between both hands, debating as to whether he should open it…but then his next class started filing in, and he quickly stowed the incriminating letter in the bottom drawer of his desk. And that's where it stayed…unopened in the bottom of the drawer.

- - -

That moment had undoubtedly been one of the worst, but things got significantly better once school had let out for the summer. Instead of being surrounded by memories of Josie, he was able to hang out with friends and family and try to put her out of his mind.

Soon, he found himself enjoying poker nights and softball games with the guys…and they all tried to set him up with their sisters, cousins, and female friends. Sam found this part tedious, but he knew his friends were only trying to help. After all, they didn't even know about Josie…they just thought he was pining after his breakup with Lara.

He did meet a few women…even enjoyed being around a couple of them. But still, as nice as the women were, he was never inspired to call for a date.

Truth be told, in the middle of the night, when he'd lie awake thinking about it, he realized that subconsciously he'd been comparing the women to Josie (the Josie he'd fallen in love with, not the one her now knew her to be)…and none of them had compared.

His family had also been very supportive. It helped that they knew about Josie, because it gave him an outlet when he needed to talk. Usually his outlet was his sister Abby, but occasionally he'd share a cup of tea with his mom and discuss it with her.

By the first week of the new school year, Sam felt that he'd gotten a handle on his emotions and had begun to put Josie behind him. The sting he once felt walking through the halls of South Glen had faded to an occasional dull ache, and even his classroom felt more comfortable now that the Senior class she'd been a part of had graduated.

Life had pretty much gotten back to normal…except for his almost nightly dreams about Josie…and his irrational daily search of the Sun-Times for her articles and clipping out every one for his scrapbook.

And now, a full seven months after his last encounter with Josie, Sam had really thought that, after his solitary Christmas, he'd truly be able to put his feelings for Josie to rest and move on with his life.

Now that seemed not only impossible, but the mere thought laughable.

After only a few hours of being in Josie's company, it was painfully clear that Sam wasn't nearly as close to putting their past behind him as he'd once thought.

- - -

As Josie crossed the threshold of the kitchen into the living room, she couldn't help but look in Sam's direction. Sam was already deeply buried in his sleeping bag, back to the room. Again, she felt buffeted by waves of anger emanating from him; so strong they actually made her shiver. In her mind, she pleaded for Sam to roll over, to acknowledge her in some way, to give her some opening to try to make amends. But it was if he knew what she wanted and was determined not to give in.

Wearily, Josie sighed, dropping her gaze to her twisting hands, and rounded the corner into the bedroom. All she wanted was to flop onto the bed bury her face in the pillows and cry herself to sleep, but with Sam just in the other room and her not able to close the door to separate them, she couldn't. She refused to show him just how much his rejection hurt her.

Instead, she grabbed her only solace—her journal—and pushed herself back against the headboard of the bed so that she couldn't see the living room. Shrugging her shoulders out of the robe, she balanced her book against her bent-up knees and began to write.

December 23rd, 1999 (continued)

This day insists on going from bad to worse. The storm howls around us in earnest; we lost power here several hours ago.

As I sit here alone in this huge bed, I still can feel his presence from the next room…Sam's, I mean. It's as if I have some sort of tuner that never loses his signal. Yet, tonight, even though he lies mere feet from where I am, he's never felt so far away, so unattainable.

So many times this evening, Sam's mercurial moods flew from one end of the spectrum to the other at the speed of light. I should have just given up trying to follow in his wake, but I guess I haven't learned very much from my heartaches to date. I can never seem to stop when it comes to Sam Coulson.

My soul needs him like my lungs need air. A part of me has been missing, and has been ever since that warm May evening when Sam walked out of my life. Yet, for months I've been unaware of its absence, tried to ignore its existence. It took being near him again for me to realize it.

It's fragile, bent, bruised…unalterably ruined. But even having back this broken, damaged part of me is better than not having it at all.

At least twice tonight, I tried to get Sam to talk to me, really talk to me, to talk about what happened between us and try to make peace with it. But both times ended badly. It's as if Sam is afraid to open up to me even the tiniest amount, afraid to place any trust in me at all. I know that is my fault that he doesn't dare trust: seven months ago he gave me his trust, and I hurt him with it. But if I could only get him to listen…then perhaps he might just understand the impossible situation I'd been in. Maybe he'd know that I wasn't trying to hurt him, to use him…but instead was trying to protect him from what Gus wanted me to do.

Oh, I don't know why I keep wishing for things that can never come true! Sam will never open up to me again, let alone love me…I think his behavior tonight has been proof of that. Any time he showed any vulnerability at all, he was quick to pull back behind a shell of anger.

Instead of wishing he would return my love, I should be wishing for a little sanity…and the ability to hold what's left of myself together until we can be free of each other once more.

The only problem is: when he goes, he'll take that piece of me with him again…and I'll never get it back. Once he's gone…I'll never be whole again.

- - -

Brushing aside a tear that trickled down her cheek, Josie set her journal and pen on the bedside table and leaned over to blow on the wick of the hurricane lamp, plunging herself into darkness. Sliding down the bed to rest her head on the pillows, she tucked the covers under her chin and stared at the black.

Once her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, she could see the faint flicker of light dancing across the wood of the open bedroom door, reflecting the fireplace on its smooth surface. Straining her ears, she could just about make out the soft crackling of the burning logs in the next room. And every once in a while, she'd hear Sam's sleeping bag rustle as he turned or rolled over.

He's probably already dead to the world, Josie thought wryly, yet, even though I should be exhausted, I can't sleep.

After several more restless minutes, Josie huffed a sigh of impatience and sat up once more. Throwing aside the covers, she stood, removing the remainder of her bathrobe, laying it along the bottom of the bed out of the way. Then she grabbed one of the pillows and plumped it, laying it long ways next to her before climbing under the blankets once more.

As she lie there, trying desperately to relax enough to sleep, her subconscious continued to nag her, Come on…you know you want to… while Josie steadfastly refused to give in. No, I won't…I don't need it. I won't do it, she thought back, fully realizing the foolishness of arguing with oneself.

Many more silent, tense minutes passed, and Josie finally relented. Pushing aside the covers again, she felt along the floor for the clothes she'd discarded earlier. Closing her hand upon soft, brushed cotton, she brought the sweater to her lap before holding it to her face and inhaling deeply as Sam's scent swirled around her. Blinking back tears and scolding herself for her own foolishness, she laid the sweater over the lengthwise pillow, laid her head upon it, and closed her eyes, hoping sleep would claim her at last.