Dear readers and reviewers, I apologize for the incredibly long delay in posting this chapter. I'm actually pretty unhappy with season 4 which is one of the main reasons that I got lazy and ignored my story. Thank God, that I have a great beta. She kicked some ass and got me back on track.
So, let us continue with this. I hope you're all still interested because there is more to come.
Tomorrow
by Serataja
-Chapter 5-
Interludes and Examinations, Part 4
September 2001
When Sam woke it was dark. She sighed and stretched, feeling better. Her throat was better, too. All the tea that Katrina had made her drink, whenever she was awake, must have done something good. She groped for her wristwatch on the night table beside her and glanced at the glowing numbers. It was 6.30 in the morning.
She cast the covers aside, sitting up, wondering how Jack had been doing with the case. Voices from outside could be heard and she rose, a bit unsteady, and walked over to the window. A small group of men was standing outside, flashlights and digging tools in their hands, apparently starting out on some kind of expedition. She searched for Jack among them, but he wasn't there. It felt like a long time since she had last seen him. Every time she had been awake the day before, Katrina had told her how busy he was.
Sam got dressed. Her head spun a little and she guessed that she was still not really over the fever, but the need to know how the case and how Jack were doing was greater than all that. When she went down the stairs, she could hear voices. The door to the kitchen opened, and a man came out, thermos in hand.
"You sure you don't want to come?" he said, glancing back.
Sam heard Jack's voice answering, his New York accent oddly out of place:
"No, you go ahead, Nick. I've got some loose ends to tie up here."
The man nodded, turned and saw her standing on the stairs. Something like an unpleasant memory or maybe the workings of a bad conscience flickered over his face. Then he was gone, and she heard him giving instructions to the men waiting outside.
Sam went down the rest of the steps and steadied herself by leaning on the doorframe that led to the kitchen. Now that she was up, she felt a lot worse than when she had been lying in bed. Jack was sitting at the kitchen table, working on a list of names. The smell of coffee was in the air.
"Hi, love," Katrina said, standing at the stove. "You feeling better?"
"Yeah, thanks," Sam mumbled.
Jack looked up and their eyes met. His gaze was void of emotion, his eyes wandering to Katrina and then back to the list and Sam felt a deep stab.
"Should you really be up?" he asked.
Sam shook her head. She could not speak, because her throat was suddenly tight with unshed tears. Some part of her mind told her that he was just being careful, but the fever made her weak and emotional.
Then Katrina was all over her, full of motherly concern.
"Poor thing," she said. An unresisting Sam was bundled back upstairs again, tucked into bed, an array of pillows arranged behind her back and neck. Katrina was talking all the while, her voice soft. Sam didn't mind her taking over.
"I'll get you a tray with breakfast," Katrina said. "You just stay put until I come back."
Jack was checking the display of Sam's cell phone, when Katrina returned to the kitchen. She took out a tray and put it forcefully down on the table. Jack flinched, but said nothing. He tried to shut out the sound of kitchenware being handled roughly and loudly to make a point. That was something he had a lot of experience in. Finally the tray was all set with bread, butter, jam, steaming coffee and a mug of tea for good measure. Katrina leaned over the table.
"You're a jerk," she said.
Jack looked at her, in shock.
"You men are all the same! She needs some warmth and all you can think of is that it might compromise you. First you make her fall for you, and the moment it becomes inconvenient you dump her like…like…garbage," she spat out.
Jack's mouth dropped open. It was a mystery to him how Katrina Scopes knew that something was going on between him and Sam. Later he pondered if she had a touch of the psychic herself. It never occurred to him that her common sense had just seen the obvious.
He groped for an answer, but Katrina didn't wait for one.
"You take that tray up to her, and you better make her feel a little better. Prophet, my ass. You can't even imagine how a woman feels. Got to have a word with Suzanne."
Before Jack could recover, she had put on her coat and was out the door. He looked at the tray.
"Shit," he muttered.
He looked at the tray some more. Finally his mouth compressed in a hard line. It wouldn't be so bad. At least no one could see him. He stood up, picked up the tray and slowly made his way to the foot of the stairs. He was usually doing a very good job at hiding the pain by preferably moving while no one was looking or simply making a poker face and pretending nothing was wrong. Going up a flight of steep steps with a tray in his hand was a different matter. He tested his left leg, noting the nauseous wave the pain send flowing upwards and decided it could not support his weight. He finally settled on putting the tray up a couple of steps before climbing them, supporting himself on the railing, then putting the tray further up again. It went well that way and he was proud of himself. He made it to her bedroom feeling exhilarated that he had avoided humiliation.
She was sitting up in bed, looking flushed and ill and now that they were alone, he let his heart out of its cage. It jumped into his throat instantly, choking the lighthearted remark he had been about to make. He put the tray down on her knees. Her eyes were guarded and wary. She leaned her head back against the wall.
"I'm not hungry," she said.
An oppressive silence spread throughout the small room.
Jack wanted to apologize, but it was impossible for him to get the words out.
There was more silence and he wanted to leave, to be anywhere but together with her in this room. He was terrified that she would reject him again, the way she had done in the car. On top of the pain in his leg he was not sure he could handle that one. He was about to walk out, when she spoke:
"Please Jack, just put the tray over there."
She kept the cup of coffee and he moved the rest of the breakfast over to a small table by the window. Then he went to the door. Her voice, tight and controlled, held him back.
"I'd like you to fill me in on the case."
Relieved that she was all business, he sat down on the chair that was pushed back against the wall, recounting everything that she had missed in the last 24 hours. She listened, a concentrated frown on her face. They talked about the case for a while the way colleagues talk and he started to feel better. But, in the end, they had talked about everything and every moment of silence was still unbearable.
"I have a couple more people I need to talk to," he said. "And I'll try to reach the Anchorage field office in the course of the day. I hope they can send a helicopter to get us out of here. I'll use your cell phone. It was in your pocket."
She nodded, sipping at her cup. The coffee made her feel better and she straightened herself up.
"Did you sleep well?" she asked.
He shrugged his shoulders.
"Could have been worse."
Her eyes traveled up to meet his and he could not stand her gaze, quickly looking away, getting up to leave.
"Jack, wait," she said. "Come here," the inflection of her voice unintentionally sharp.
She could see that the tone didn't sit well with him but he stopped, a stubborn look on his face.
She pointed at the bed.
"Sit," she said, not bothering with niceties.
For a moment she thought he would leave anyway. He seemed to be fighting an inner battle, his body already turned towards the door, his head bent. Then he gave her a short glance as if to gauge her mood and finally gave in and sat down with a sigh, rubbing his hands over his face in a tired gesture.
"What the fuck is wrong, Jack?" she demanded. "What aren't you telling me?"
So he let out a breath and told her about the gun Nick had drawn on him, stressing that it hadn't been loaded, leaving out the part where he had threatened to 'take care of her'. She was pale when he finished.
"I really have to do some work, now," he said.
"Jack, are you in pain?"
He was taken aback, his hands instinctively cupping his knee.
"It's not so bad," he said, embarrassed.
"It's still dark outside," she said, "and will be for another hour or two. I'm sure people will appreciate it if you don't disturb them in their early morning routines."
She moved aside, making room on the bed.
"I suggest you lay down and get some more rest. You look like something the cat dragged in."
He bent down without another word to take off his boots, and she looked out of the window, so he could have some privacy. Obviously bending down was painful for him, too. Finally he settled down beside her on his back, grunting a little, using one of the pillows as support under his left knee. He let out a deep breath and closed his eyes. Sam covered both of them with the blanket. She moved closer to him, her body just touching his, her cheek pressed against his upper arm. Somehow his hand found hers and held it tightly before intertwining their fingers.
"Oh God, Sam," he whispered.
After a couple of minutes he dozed off.
000
When he woke again, the sun was shining outside. He moved his head a fraction to glance at her watch. It was 11 a.m. He groaned. There was no way he wanted to move. It was so good to lie here, his body sunk into the mattress, feeling the warmth of the woman beside him. Even the pain in his knee had abated to a manageable level. Sam's arm was flung across his chest, her head on his shoulder. He grew very aware of her presence, moving his head so his cheek came to rest against her hair.
Half an hour later he decided he simply had to move. When he sat up to retrieve his shoes from under the bed, he felt her stirring behind him. He put them on, grateful that the muscles in his leg had relaxed and let him move with relative ease. He waited for her to say something, but instead he felt her arms go around him from behind, hugging him tight. Then she ruffled his hair and nuzzled his neck. He turned around to face her, feeling more at ease with her than he had done before. She stroked his face with her hands, tenderly. Finally she put a small kiss on the tip of his nose.
"I'm not going to really kiss you, mister," she said. "Don't want you catching all those germs, but it was nice sleeping with you."
He embraced her, holding her very tight.
"Yeah, it was very nice," he said, when he let her go.
"Smile, Jack."
He attempted something that looked a little crooked.
"We'll figure it out somehow," she said.
Jack nodded. There was really nothing to figure out. He was in love with her like crazy, and at home his wife and kids were waiting for him. There was nothing to figure out. He was screwed either way and he was sure to get someone else hurt in the process, probably all of them.
"Yeah, we'll figure it out," he said, wanting to believe her, and trying to shove the whole mess into the background of his mind. For a while he almost succeeded.
000
Once the weather had cleared, Jack got a signal on the cell phone and talked to the field office. Two days later the FBI was finally able to send a helicopter to retrieve their agents. Until then Jack had wrapped up his end of the investigation. There was nothing more for them to do.
To his relief Nick had gone downriver to talk to the authorities and his brother, the minister was playing boss at the dig to the annoyance of all involved. Katrina was left home alone. It proved to be a much more relaxing experience not having the two headstrong men around. Jack noted that Sam and Katrina were talking a lot. He was not sure how he felt about that. He feared another bashing from that side. But when they said their goodbyes on the last day, Katrina merely hugged him, pressing her rosy, round cheek to his stubbled one. She stayed that way for a moment too long and Jack was grateful that Sam had gone up to her room to get her bag. Just when he was about to draw back she released him. Instead she took his face in her hands, looking him into the eyes with an intensity that made him feel uncomfortable. He wanted to shrink back, feeling like a little boy about to be reprimanded. Then her smell reached him, clean and soapy, bringing with it the memory of long ago summer days, of the fine sand of the beach beneath his feet, and his mother, sweeping the small boy up in an embrace. He drew in the fragrance, snapping back when he became aware that he was about to lose himself in the moment,and that the woman before him was not his mother and he himself not a boy anymore.
"You poor man," Katrina said, letting her hands fall away.
Jack heard Sam come down the stairs, dropping her bag at the foot of them.
Katrina smiled at him.
"You know," she whispered, "one day soon you will have to let go of the past. If you don't the past will eat you alive. I know what I'm talking about."
He shook his head, not knowing what she was referring to, because she couldn't possibly know about his mother. Later it came to him that she had probably just seen that there was something there, a past tragedy that was bothering him, something threatening to make him bitter if he didn't let go in time.
A bit flustered he turned around and saw Sam standing there, her hair windswept from a walk by the river, her cheeks flushed. He suppressed the impulse to reach out and take her hand.
"Come on," he said, sounding more gruff than he had intended.
Out in the woods the people of Crossville were still trying to dig out the remainders of the cabin. It was a slow job. It would take a while. But Jack had the feeling they would not stop until they had found the woman they had all tried to protect.
000
The helicopter made a low pass over the area of the dig. Sam could make out waving people. She looked over at Jack and adjusted her microphone, so she could talk to him over the whirring sound of the rotor blades.
"Do you really think she got buried in the landslide? All we have is Suzanne's word. And if you ask me, that sort of evidence is a little flimsy."
"Do you think she's still out there?" he asked.
She shrugged.
"The feeling in my gut tells me she's gone. But that's no more hard evidence than Suzanne's dreams."
"My gut tells me the same thing," he muttered. "I wish to hell it didn't."
"You talked to the family?"
"Vivian handled it."
"Good."
She studied him, taking in the details of his appearance, the way he held himself. His shoulders were hunched, the bad leg stretched out in front of him. The lines in his face, more pronounced than usual, gave him a disgruntled look. Sam felt that something was weighing on him, but she couldn't tell if it was the case, his marriage or their mutual attraction and the potential mess their lives threatened to become.
'Why him?' she asked herself. He was so totally different from anyone she'd ever had a relationship with.
He opened his mouth as if to say something but thought better of it. The pilot could listen in on their conversation. He leaned his head back, folded his hands in his lap and stared at her, thoughtful at first, but then she watched his mood change. A faint glint appeared in his eyes. Sam suddenly got the feeling that he was undressing her in his mind. It didn't bother her one little bit – quite the opposite.
She stared back, amusement soon deepening to warmth. There was no need to talk; this was a conversation on a whole different level, one on which she had never communicated before, with anyone.
Why him?
What a stupid question.
Because he was Jack.
TBC