VIII. Light
She could always tell what mood he was in. Before he even knocked, before the door opened and he became a poet, a musician, a magician… she would know.
It was the temperature, the light, the shadows, his footsteps, the silence filled with anticipation that gave him away, and yet tonight, she could hear him on the other side of the door, but couldn't tell who he would be, couldn't recognize his pace, couldn't determine if the room would grant him his wish and give him the alias he needed. Maybe tonight, he'd have an alias she'd never seen before. Maybe he'd walk through the darkness, and would come out unchanged; maybe that dark spot would be bathed in a gaudy light, exposing him, exposing her.
And he would emerge from it as the married man.
He stood for a moment in the doorway, and she'd been right. He waited, waited for the light to go out and erase his name and rid him of his identity. He waited to be turned into that anonymous individual who would be meeting another anonymous individual in an anonymous hotel room. But as he stood, immobile in the entrance, the darkness didn't come, and a faint light lingered where complete obscurity once was, and when he started walking again, with a weariness she hadn't seen in the past, he was still Jack Malone, he was still her boss, and the ring he wore was still a ring that bound hearts and screamed of infidelity to adulterers.
She hadn't recognized his steps, because she'd never heard them before, but she knew what they meant. Knew that all he was really doing was memorizing the feel of that carpet beneath his shoes, remembering the light in the room, noticing cracks in the walls or a stain on the tapestry, all these details that had always seemed secondary but that felt important tonight, because it was the last. She knew those steps could mean only one thing. She knew they meant that what they'd started in this room would end the way it had begun; knew the room would claim all their aliases back and leave them only with their true identities.
The bed creaked when he sat, and he let out a heavy breath before he turned to her. She hoped for an instant to be proven wrong, hoped that the charm in the entrance had operated properly, but then she saw the sorrow in his gaze.
Her fingers found his hand and hovered above the metal band for a moment. She tried to wring it off, but it resisted, and in that instant, she realized it was no longer the mere accessory it used to be, no longer that sort of object you can toss aside and fling to the floor like an unnecessary tie or a pair of socks or a belt buckle. She tried again, but it didn't concede, and slowly, he brought his other hand to cover hers, to stop her from trying further, to stop her from insisting.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drew her against him, watched as the darkness in the room dissipated, and watched the dark spot in front of the door disappear. He used to like the light, but this was too much. This was a harsh light, one that left them naked and vulnerable and made it impossible to hide.
She shut her eyes, dazzled by the sudden brightness.
"Turn off the light, Jack."
He looked at her sadly when she spoke his name, knowing their last aliases were gone. Once, he would have blinked at the light and it would have vanished, and together, they would have hidden in the darkness. Once, they'd been free; she'd been a writer and a painter, and he'd been a poet and a musician.
His eyes fell to his ring and he bit his lip, speaking quietly.
"I can't, Sam."
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(End of Aliases)
A/N: I wasn't sure how to end this story, hesitating between a happy end and this. But I think it's fitting that J/S separated at the end, because we all know how it went down between them. Thank you for sticking with this story and for reviewing!
Heloise
(Oh yes, I do have a really name. Jsfan4ever is merely... an alias -g-)