Title: Everything/Nothing.

Author: Melanie-Anne

Email: melani_anne

Rating: PG-13

Category: Humor, Skewfic

Summary: If she hadn't been at that bar, she wouldn't have woken up in Jack's bed—and she wouldn't be missing an alarming chunk of her memory.

A/N: Sorry, G, I know I promised you the other story but this insisted on being written. I needed some mindless fluff for a bit. Not beta'd, so consider yourselves warned!

Looking for Sharon had brought Jack to this dingy little bar not far from the VCTF building. The room was smoky and smelled of stale beer and sweat. Jack tried not to let his displeasure show as he jostled his way through the crowd. He scanned the faces of the people he passed, but didn't see Sharon. About to give up and leave before he followed through on his urge to kill someone, he heard familiar laughter from the direction of the bar. He turned his head and smiled. Maybe the night wasn't a total waste after all. He approached the blonde cautiously, not wanting to give himself away too soon.

"I'll have another one of these." She slid her empty glass towards the barman, slurring her words just a little. Jack's smile faded; she was drunk.

"I think you've had enough," the barman said.

"Oh, come on. Jus' one more."

"No. I think you'd better hand over your car keys. I'll call a cab for you."

"There's no need." Jack stepped up to the bar. "I'll take her home."

"And you are?"

"A friend of hers. From work."

"Do you know him, lady?" The barman looked at her. She gazed up at Jack and giggled.

"Nooo . . . but he is cute. What's your name?"

Jack sighed. So she was going to be difficult. Ignoring the barman's suspicious look, he gently took her arm. "Samantha, let's go."

She giggled again. "My name's Samantha, silly."

He glanced at the barman as if to say, See. I do know her. He spoke to Sam slowly, as one would speak to a child. "Yes. I know. I'm going to take you home."

Sam pulled out her car keys and dangled them from her fingers. "But I can drive. I'm fine to drive. Really."

Jack took the keys and put them in his pocket. "I don't think so."

She pouted. "You sound like Bailey now."

"Samantha—"

She leaned towards him, mischief twinkling in her eyes. She slipped her hand into his pocket, feeling for the keys. He grabbed her arm. She laughed. "Uh oh. You got me."

"Say goodbye to the nice barman and let's go."

She got to her feet, wobbling unsteadily then leaned almost completely on Jack. Flashing the barman a disarming smile, she purred, "Goodbye nice barman."

The barman looked sympathetically at Jack and mouthed 'Good luck'. As Jack led Sam outside, he wondered just what he'd gotten himself into.

"I still don't know your name." Sam leaned on the bonnet of the car while Jack unlocked and opened the passenger door.

"Samantha, get in the car."

"Only Jack calls me Samantha. But you can't be Jack 'cause you're no fun. I think you're Bailey in disguise. Bailey's no fun either."

"Just how much did you have to drink?"

She shrugged, then climbed inside. "Do I really have to go home?"

"Where else would you go?"

"I dunno." She trailed her fingers up his leg and looked at him from under lowered lashes. "Your place, maybe."

Oh boy. Jack removed her hand and started the car. Five minutes into the ride, when Sam's hand returned to his leg, he left it there. It was probably best if Sam didn't go home straight away; he'd take her back to his place, sober her up a little, then take her home.

Maybe.

Sharon still hadn't returned when they arrived. Sam hooked her arm through his as they entered his house. She picked up a rose and held it to her nose.

"I like roses," she said.

"I know." He headed to the kitchen to put the kettle on, then realized Sam had free reign of the house. She was at his computer and leaned back in his chair, her fingers steepled under chin. Jack couldn't decipher the expression on her face.

After a while, she said, "I thought you'd look different."

She stood up, and stumbled to the bedroom, kicking her shoes off on the way. Jack followed slowly and watched in surprise as Sam stripped to her underwear and crawled under the covers. When he reached her side, she was already asleep. He couldn't help bending down to kiss her forehead.

"Well, now this is interesting."

The easel was set up a few feet from the bed. Jack was applying the finishing touches to the painting when he heard a gasp from the doorway, and then, "What the hell is she doing here?"

Not taking his eyes from the figure on the bed, he said, "Welcome back, my pet."

"She's in our bed!"

He finally turned to look at Sharon. "Where were you?"

"Out."

"Mmm." He put the paintbrush down and stepped back to look at the result. It was obviously not as good as the real thing, but it would have to do. Sharon stepped closer so she could see too.

"What! So the photos aren't enough? You have to paint her as well!"

"I've explained this to you before, Sharon. She is everything to me."

Sharon stared at him, open-mouthed for a while. "She is everything? What about me?"

Jack met her gaze in silence. Sharon looked at the painting again.

"You've never painted me—I see. I'm nothing, huh? I hate you!" She pulled a switchblade from her pocket and took a step towards the bed. Jack grabbed her wrist, twisting until she dropped the knife.

"If you hurt her, I will kill you."

"She doesn't love you like I do, Jack! I've killed for you. What's she done, huh? Nothing!"

Jack's face twisted into an expression of disgust. He threw Sharon towards the door. "Get out."

Sam woke up with a pounding headache. Her bed felt different. She opened one eye and saw enough of the room to know she wasn't in her own bed. She sat up, ignoring the world tilt on its axis. Her tongue felt thick, her head heavy. Catching sight of herself in a mirror, she noticed she wasn't clothed.

"Fantastic." She saw a man's button-up shirt across the back of a chair and put it on, grateful to see it fell to mid-thigh. The collar smelled of tobacco and pine, and she smiled, wishing she could remember what had happened the night before. Though the scent was familiar, she couldn't recall where she'd smelled it before.

"Ah, Samantha. You're up."

She knew the voice. Jack! She whirled around, looking for something to use as a weapon, and had to grab onto something as she was hit by a wave of dizziness. The object beneath her hand was firm and warm—Jack's arm. She stepped back, collapsing onto the bed. Jack bent over her, smiling as he pinned her down.

"Why the sudden urge to get away? Last night you couldn't get enough of me."

"We didn't . . . Did we?"

Jack's eyes traveled down her body as she waited for a reply. Even with the shirt on, she felt naked. She shivered.

"Did we what?"

"Umm . . ."

"Was there something you wanted to do?" His breath was soft and ticklish against her neck. She squeezed her eyes shut, vowing not to touch alcohol again for as long as she lived—Which she didn't expect to be all that long now that Jack had her.

"Well, Samantha?"

"I'd really like to take a shower."

"Alone?"

"Yes!" Her eyes flew open and she was surprised to see that Jack looked amused.

"Suit yourself." He released her but she made no move to get up. He stood. "Go freshen up. I'll make breakfast."

Breakfast? What exactly was going on? Half-expecting to hear the theme from 'The Twilight Zone', Sam went into the bathroom and locked the door behind her.

Once she'd showered, she wrapped her hair in a towel and stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. There was one toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste in front of her. She'd slept in Jack's bed, used his shower . . . but his toothbrush was a completely different matter. Toothbrushes were so personal. She'd never even used Tom's toothbrush and they'd been married.

But it was either this or walk around tasting tequila until Jack let her go. If Jack let her go.

She sighed. It was all Bailey's fault she'd ended up here. If he hadn't been pressuring her for answers ("Come on, Sam. We need to break this.") she wouldn't have snapped at him ("It doesn't work like a vending machine!) and she wouldn't have gone drinking. If she hadn't been at that bar, she wouldn't have woken up in Jack's bed—and she wouldn't be missing an alarming chunk of her memory.

Yes, it was definitely Bailey's fault.

She squeezed some toothpaste onto the toothbrush.

When she returned to the bedroom, her clothes were nowhere in sight. She dug through the closet and eventually found a pair of sweatpants that looked like they'd fit. She put the shirt on again and left her hair in the towel. She followed the smell of bacon to the kitchen and stopped dead when she saw Jack in front of the stove.

"You cook."

"Don't sound so surprised." He handed her a mug of coffee. "You look much better."

She took a cautious sip, not really expecting Jack to poison her. "Umm . . . Why did you kidnap me again?"

"I didn't. You're free to leave whenever you want."

"What?"

"I hope you'll wait until after breakfast though. I wouldn't want all this food to go to waste." He handed Sam a plate, which she numbly accepted.

"Jack, I don't understand—What happened last night?" She sat down and busied herself with the food on her plate to avoid looking at him.

"What do you remember?"

"Nothing."

She heard him sigh but still couldn't look up. "Well, nothing happened. You were drunk and you passed out in my bed."

"Yes, but what was I doing in your bed in the first place?"

"Now that's the million dollar question, isn't it?"

Sam started eating, not at all surprised to find that everything was cooked just the way she liked it. This day couldn't possibly get any stranger, could it?

"So you live alone then." Sam stood at Jack's worktable, looking through the various items sitting atop it. She picked up a scalpel and glanced at Jack. He was watching her from the doorway. She put the scalpel back.

"What makes you think that?"

"Well I can't see another woman being happy that you've got pictures of me everywhere."

"Jealous, Samantha?"

She looked up sharply. "What? No! I—No. No, that's ridiculous. Can I use your phone?"

"Depends on who you're calling."

"Angel will be worried about me."

He nodded and led her to the phone. She waited impatiently for someone to pick up.

"Angel! It's me—" Jack moved her hair from the nape of her neck and started kissing her. She almost dropped the phone but couldn't pull away; his other arm was wrapped firmly around her waist. "—I'm okay . . . Sorry I didn't call last night but—" His hands began to roam. "—I was at a bar . . . No, no one picked me up. I went home with a friend—" She tried to squirm out of his grasp but only succeeded in getting herself pinned against the wall. "—I'm not sure when I'll be home . . . Yeah, bye."

As soon as she heard Angel put the phone down she dropped the receiver and used both hands to push Jack away. He let her go, and she buttoned up her shirt.

"What were you thinking?"

He dropped his eyes to her breasts. "Don't pretend you didn't like it."

Her cheeks flaming, she folded her arms across her chest. "So where's Jill? Shouldn't she be around here somewhere?"

"You're here now, Samantha. I don't need Jill anymore."

"You said I was free to leave whenever—"

He stepped aside, motioning for her to pass. She brushed her hair behind her ears and forced herself to look at Jack.

"Why me?" Once he told her, she'd leave. Then she'd let Bailey know where this place was and they could arrest him. Or she could just arrest him now. No, she should just shoot him. That would make things so much simpler. Yes, just kill him and move on.

"Because we're the same."

"No. That's not good enough. I want a real answer."

He stepped closer to her and cupped her cheek in his hand, forcing eye contact. "Have you never felt so strongly about someone that you want to possess every part of them?"

She shook her head, mouthing, 'No.'

Jack smiled. "Not yet," and brought his lips to hers.

She should have known she'd lost when she'd decided to share his toothbrush. She rolled over, pulling up the sheet to cover herself. He was on his side, watching her. She smiled.

"Now what?"

"You said I was cute."

"Yeah, but I was drunk."

He laughed and pulled her to him. "You're beautiful."

"And you're crazy—Hey! That tickles."

Sam's beeper went off. She took one look at the code and threw it across the room then slipped back under the covers.

"Isn't that destruction of government property?"

"Like you care about government property!"

"Oh, I do." He climbed on top of her and held up a pair of silver handcuffs. "These belong to the government."

Sam grinned wickedly. "Misappropriation of government property. Mmm . . . go on. In fact, I think I might need a demonstration."

"So, let me get this straight. You lost your beeper and your handcuffs?"

Sam looked up from the notepad she was doodling on, and smiled at Bailey. "I'm sorry."

"Sam. You can't just lose a pair of handcuffs. And don't you keep your beeper in your handbag?"

"Maybe someone stole it when I wasn't looking."

"What's that on your neck?"

Sam was suddenly very interested in Bailey's tie. "Uh, Bailey, I've got a lot of work to do."

He nodded and left. Sam picked up the pen and started doodling again. Bailey really was no fun. She reached up to touch the love bite on her neck, wondering if Jack was as bored as she was, and thinking they should do something about that. It was her duty, after all, to stop Jack from killing and if he was otherwise occupied . . .

She smiled.