Disclaimer: I own nothing. Daniel and Sam belong to Gekko Productions, Showtime, and Sci-fi. I’m just borrowing them for a bit.

Author’s Note: This was written for the Two-Lines Challenge. My lines were, “Oh, get me away from here, I’m dying/Give me a song to set me free,” from the song “Get Me Away from Here, I’m Dying” by Belle and Sebastian.

Spoilers: “Meridian”

I wasn’t supposed to be there; it was against the rules. According to Oma, “We cannot interfere in the affairs of mortals.” But I couldn’t resist. I wasn’t going to touch; I wouldn’t even talk to her. I just wanted to see her.

Sam ambled into her apartment and threw her keys onto her kitchen table. She always did that, and then sometimes couldn’t find them again. She sighed as she reached into the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of wine. Sauntering into the living room, she turned on her CD player and curled up on the couch. Billie Holiday’s sultry voice floated out of the CD player and filled the room. Sam sang along with her, a little off key but with no less heart.

I had forgotten just how beautiful she was with her halo of blond hair and her sparkling blue eyes. Only her eyes weren’t sparkling tonight; they were shadowed and hollow. It bothered me to see her hurt, but I resisted the urge to help. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and tell her everything would be all right. I couldn’t get involved, though. I was free of every burden and responsibility, but I was a prisoner of my own ascension.

I moved closer to her and settled on the couch beside her. It was killing me, not being able to touch her.

Why didn’t I tell her I loved her? Why hadn’t I let her know that she meant the world to me? Instead, I was a coward and stayed quiet. I didn’t want to know whether she would choose me over Jack if he weren’t her commanding officer.

As the CD moved from song to song, Sam finished her first bottle and stood up to retrieve another. She slowly sauntered into the kitchen, still singing to the top of her lungs. Grabbing another bottle, she made her way back into the living room and sat back down on the couch. Picking up a book lying on her coffee table, she flipped it open and read a few pages. It didn’t seem to hold her attention, though. Something was definitely on her mind; I could tell by the concentration reflected in her face. She got that way when she was thoughtful.

She grabbed several more bottles and scribbled down problems and theories throughout the night. I never could understand how she thought solving math problems were relaxing, but there she sat, figuring out a geometry problem. Eventually, she grew frustrated and threw her pencil across the room.

“Damn you, Daniel!” Her outburst drew my attention. She didn’t see me, did she? No, she was staring straight ahead, tears glistening in her eyes.

“Why did you have to jump through that glass?” she continued. “You didn’t have to risk your life for those people. It wasn’t your problem. But that was just like you, wasn’t it? Of all the selfish, inconsiderate things.” She paused and took a drink. “You weren’t supposed to leave. Other guys have left me, chose something else over me, but you weren’t suppose to. You were my best friend; you understood me. And you left.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I wanted to tell her I was sorry, that I’d change it if I could, but Oma’s rules rang in my ears. I moved closer as if it would calm her.

Sam continued to rant. “Damn it! I loved you. You were more than a friend to me, but I was too stupid to realize it. I can tell you all about molecular theories, but I can’t understand what my own heart was telling me. And now you’re gone, and I’m stuck here alone.”

No, you’re not, I wanted to say. I’m here; I can hear every word. I was bound, though, unable to do or say anything. I couldn’t make it better, and it was tearing me apart.

An hour and three bottles of alcohol later, Sam fell asleep. Billie Holiday finished her bluesy performance, and silence filled the room. Knowing I would be reprimanded, I covered Sam up with the afghan that sat on the back of the couch.

I felt empty without her and stupid for never telling her. However, I chose this path. I made that decision, and I had to let her go. Taking one last look, I left her sleeping in her apartment, hoping tomorrow would be a better day.


© 2003 Crimson Idealist