June, 1994

Sam stepped into her apartment and let her laptop bag slide gracelessly to the floor. Yes, it was amazing to be able to port a computer back and forth, as only so much data could fit on a floppy drive, but the thing was heavy, and hefting it around the Pentagon was taxing. Slipping off her jacket, she rolled her shoulders a few times as she headed for her dark bedroom.

She turned toward the closet and stopped, her face spreading into a broad grin. "Hey!"

Jonas sat on his pillow, still in uniform, leaning against the headboard. Long legs kicked out across the bed, his boots lying toppled-over on the carpet. "Where the hell have you been?" he asked softly.

There was no anger in his voice, but the words caught her off guard. "Uh... at work," she stuttered.

"At work," he echoed flatly. "It's oh-two hundred."

It was? "I guess I let time get away from me. But I... I didn't know you were back from deployment. If I'd known you were going to be here, I would've come home."

He didn't answer, just continued to stare at her. There was something menacing about it, his eyes dark in only the streetlight, and it made her uncomfortable. "What?" she asked finally, still clutching her jacket.

"If you'd known I was here?" he asked finally. "So this is routine? When I'm deployed, you stay out until all hours of the night? But only when I don't know about it."

"What's that supposed to mean, exactly?" she asked, a tiny knot beginning to form in the bottom of her stomach.

"You were at work. Doing what?"

"You know I can't tell you that."

Smoothly, he rolled to his feet and crossed the room, getting well into her space. "And I'm just supposed to buy that?" he demanded. "That this... this... science has you working all hours, but only when I happen to be deployed? That you choose to work all night at your nine-to-five job?"

"I never said it was nine to five," she protested, reeling from his sudden rage.

"It certainly is when I'm here! You telling me you set your own hours now, Lieutenant?"

Shaking her head to clear it, Sam forced herself to take both a mental and physical step back. "Why do you care?" she asked, flummoxed. "What does it matter if I work long hours while you're away? What, you think I should get paid more? You know it doesn't work like that, Jonas."

"Oh, no, I know that. Life doesn't work like that."

"Then what are you getting at? I don't understand why you're mad at me!" she insisted.

"Because you're lying to me!" he roared, and Sam nearly tripped as she backpedaled, earning only a few feet of distance before she hit the wall. Maybe it was the way the light splayed shadows across his eyes, but there was a darkness there – something deep – that she'd never seen before. For the first time, he was Major Jonas Hanson, Special Tactics... and she was afraid.

He must have seen it, must have realized how close he was to crossing that line, because a slightly shaky hand scrubbed across his face. When he spoke again, his voice was low. "Look, I get it, okay? I'm deployed a lot. But you're military – I thought you would understand. I didn't think I had to worry about you while I was gone, but you... And you're still wearing your ring," he whispered sadly.

"I never take it off," she insisted, her voice just as soft as his. "Why would I?"

It was his turn to back away, dragging his feet until his calves hit the bed and he slumped onto it, his face in his hands. "Just give me a name."

"A what? Who? Jonas, I don't understand."

"I just want his name," he mumbled through his fingers. "Just tell me who you're screwing around with when I'm not here."

Instantly, her blood ran cold. He thought she was cheating on him? "How... how can you think that? What the hell kind of person do you think I am?" she demanded, shock quickly turning to rage.

"What am I supposed to think?" he shot back. "It's two in the morning! You're out all night; I don't know where you are..."

"I never know where you are!" she cried. "And you work nights – weeks – all the time, but I don't think you're cheating!"

"I'm halfway around the world. With my unit. Doing my job," he growled.

"And I'm doing mine!"

He shook his head. "How do you expect me to buy that? You do paperwork, for Pete's sake."

"What I do is important," she spat.

"Yeah? Then tell me what the hell it is."

She sucked in a breath. "Is that what this is about? Again? I don't know what you do, either."

"Oh, yes, you do," he grunted.

"Yeah? Where were you this time?" she pressed. "Somalia? Panama? Iraq?"

As always, with the tables turned, he deflated. "I don't want to argue about this," he sighed.

"Jonas, I don't want to argue at all! But I don't appreciate you accusing me of being unfaithful to you!"

The hand ran through his hair this time, making it stand up, unkempt. "What am I supposed to think?" he asked softly. "I leave my fiancee – drop-dead gorgeous, smart... everything – and she's... she's staying out late, keeping secrets about where she is..."

"I'm not keeping secrets," she protested.

"And let's face it, Sam, I'm not that great a catch."

She wanted to stay mad at him, but looking at him – slumped shoulders, creased forehead – the indignant streak faded. He seemed so... dejected. Lost. Like the thought of losing her might actually make him crumple. "Jonas..."

"I wouldn't blame you." His voice was pained. "I've never known what you saw in me, anyway."

That sharp pain in her chest could only be her heart breaking for him. After all this time, it was still so hard for him to believe that things could go right in his life. Kneeling at his feet, she gently pried his hands away from his face and gasped at his wet cheeks. "Jonas, I love you," she whispered.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he shook his head.

"I do," she insisted through tears of her own. "Please. You have to know that."

Slowly, he slid off the bed, landing on his knees in front of her and wrapping her in an impossibly tight embrace. "I love you so much," he breathed into her neck, his voice choked with tears. "I just can't handle it. The thought of you with someone else – it drives me crazy."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"No more late nights. Please, Sam. It makes me think-"

"Okay. Okay, I promise."

"I just... when I don't know where you are, I worry. What if something happened to you, or, or..."

She nodded against his neck, pulling him closer. "No more late nights," she echoed. "I'll be here. I swear."

"I love you," he managed, shoulders shaking as he sobbed gently into her shoulder.

"Shhh. It's okay. I love you, too."