Chapter 16

So very very very very sorry that I haven't done ANYTHING with this in forever! Happened to stumble upon it the other day, re read it, and decided not to give up on it after all. Will try to be a bit more regular now. Thanks for those of you who decide to check in with this old thing in the future :)

Without a word, she sank into a chair beneath the windowsill, her dress wilting about her legs like a ruined bouquet. Samantha could feel her entire body trembling as she put her head against the sill and breathed the air that crept in from the screen. It was little better than what the church was filled with—the temperature had almost reached its peak of 91 degrees.

"You should drink something," a not unkind voice grunted, and she blindly obeyed, taking the glass from the outstretched hand. The water was had no ice but was refreshing. Sam kept her eyes closed and just focused on breathing.

"I wasn't sure you were coming or not," she said, exhaling. "I don't think I'd have blamed you if you didn't."

"Sam, we've barely spoken since the accident, and I take full responsibility for that…"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Jack, but I don't think I'm physically capable of our usual exchanges of guilt."

Jack nodded. After a moment, he lifted up a heavy upholstered chair and sat it next to hers by the window so that their arms almost grazed each other. "Shit, it's hot."

She laughed abruptly and instantly regretted it as her brain throbbed against her skull. "Mom wouldn't wait more than a month. I don't think she could have swallowed her husband escorting a bulging belly down any cathedral aisle."

He gave a smile, but it froze on his lips as she could see the old self-hatred descend upon him, momentarily uplifted. "I, uh, wanted to congratulate you. Many times, you know, but I couldn't." He hesitated. "I think I can now. We owe each other civility at least, don't we?"

"Jack, the very last thing I care about right now is being civil. What I want more than anything is to rip this ridiculous thing off of me and dive into a really cold lake somewhere." Sam opened her eyes and pulled herself upright, looking towards the door to the chapel. "She'll be back soon."

"Door's locked."

She could've leapt for joy.

Instead, she turned back to Jack and looked into his face, unexpectedly calm. "I tried to tell you that day, at the warehouse. I was about to say it when I think they sedated me. I wanted it to be me who told you; I guess I should've earlier, but I didn't want you to find out the way you did."

Sam caught herself and frowned. "How did you find out, anyway? I always kind of assumed Viv had told you when you reported in…"

Jack opened his mouth to respond when several very sharp raps on the door interrupted him. The voice of Samantha's mother reverberated through the ancient room.

"Samantha, dear, do you think you're quite recovered? Everyone's waiting! Martin's worried, and would like to see you're all right!" Her voice lowered to a stinging hiss. "Samantha Spade, we do not have the kind of time to be postponing things right now, if you know what I mean!"

"Jesus, mother! The baby's not going to pop out in the next fifteen minutes!" Jack snorted and covered a grin with his broad fist. Sam reddened and laughed embarrassedly under her breath. "Just…give me a minute, please?"

Her mother's silence apparently informed her that her request had been granted.

"Do you want to know how I feel, Jack? Well, here it is: I don't want to get married. Did you hear me? I. Don't. Want. To. Get. Married. But I'm not thinking for myself anymore, am I? I've got somebody else to think about now, haven't I? I wouldn't have this baby out of wedlock, I just wouldn't. It wouldn't be fair to it, and life sucks enough as it is without having that hanging over your head as a kid."

She suddenly breezed from the chair and to her feet. Dizzy, but unwilling to cop to it, she danced from one foot to the other, hands on her hips. She stopped.

"You know, I…" she swallowed, feeling her throat tighten. "I wished for a miscarriage."

The silence that followed made the word echo in her mind; there was no sound in the room besides the blood pumping in her ears. Her bare shoulders caved as she began to shake again. "I'm so ashamed…"

She jerked her head up onto her shoulders and spun around. "So you see how I can't get married. You see me, right? I can't. Not like this. Not like I am."

As you are. Jack dragged his eyes up from his hands to face her. God, if she knew what he saw as he looked at her. Skin glowing from the heat within and without. Eyes ablaze. Hair slightly undone and bedraggled. He felt very old.

Jack.

Jack.

"…never felt so trapped. Do you see what I'm up against here? I can't stay inside this room forever. I go out there and it's over. But I can't stay in here. I've got no where to go…"

All the defenses he'd built for himself, fortresses around his heart and mind, were disintegrating. One of the most powerful men in the city, and his best work crumbled before him.

"…to be pregnant! I don't want this now…can't deal with this now…"

Her hands clawed at her throat where the delicate lace of the dress collected. The skin there was breaking out in an angry red color. She needed out. He knew the feeling.

He shouldn't have come in here.

Jack swept out of the chair and was in front of her in a blur of movement. His fingers worked the clasp around her throat and tore the fabric from her skin. Her breath was fast and hot against his face as she desperately pulled the dress from her body. It was past her shoulders; she wriggled free. It hung at her ankles.

She gripped the mound of hair at the back of her hair and heaved deep, long breaths. All that remained was the corset around her torso and the ivory slip that fell to her calves.

He hung back, almost hunched as in homage, ashamed and lustful of his work. His hands boiled and throbbed where they hung at his sides.

"I want to go swimming, Jack. Find me a lake."

Done. He was out the door. He was in his car, driving, speeding, demanding information from the rangers on the highway, pulling rank, speeding, speeding, crashing for the water—

"You've got to face them, Samantha." She opened her eyes in disgust, disgusted with him, he knew. "I can be behind you, but I can't let you run away." He took a step to the side and put his hands in his pockets. "You won't let you run away."

She moved over to him, countering his evasion. "If it were yours, Jack, would you be letting me do this?"

"Don't do that, Sam." She lifted the slip higher, higher up her leg until it bared the garters and lingerie she wore. Sam pulled one hand from his pocket and slid it over her side. The barely dissolved stitches and newly forming scar were rough under his fingers.

"Is it yours, Jack?" Sam asked pleadingly, begging him to tell her, willing him to know by the hand on her abdomen. Their eyes met. The heat beneath his fingers grew in intensity. He couldn't bear much more.

There was the knocking again. There was the piercing voice, inquiring, demanding, scolding.

He pulled her close to him, curling his hand beneath her hair. Their faces were inches from each other.

"Sam, whatever happens, whatever you end up doing today, tomorrow, next year, you can always come to me, do you understand that? I will take care of you, whenever you need me. I swear to God. But right now, you need to put Martin's ring on your finger. You have to go back out there, sweetheart, because I know he can put things right for you. He'll support you."

Her eyes were wide and searching. "Promise what you said, before. Promise me."

"Sam, I made that promise the first day we met. Now, go. Go!" She reached up and grasped his face with one trembling hand, as if memorizing his face. And then, she was gone.

Gone again.

And Jack was left alone with the shambles of a life he had spent months sorting together. Left alone to build again.