He’s still wired.

Christ.

Jack ducks his head beneath the scalding spray and closes his eyes, willing the steady thrum of water on the back of his neck to rinse away the last of the adrenaline lingering in his system.

He can still see the hostage in his mind’s eye, her face pale. He can feel the phantom weight of the Kevlar and her arms tight around his neck.

“I — th-thank you,” she’d stammered, her slight frame trembling against him.

He’d led her away from the body — all that blood — as gently as he could, reassured her that everything was going to be fine. That she was safe. That he and his SWAT team had the situation under control.

He can still see the gratitude emanating from those tear-filled green eyes, and worse, he’d liked seeing it.

His heartbeat quickens and his gut twists with shame, with guilt. Saving lives is supposed to be a study in altruism. And Christ, that’s why he does this job — to help, to make a difference.

Don’t I?

He blinks and stares sightlessly at the glistening white tile, watching the water spiral down the drain.

He’s no longer in the lobby of the U.S. Bank Tower downtown, barking orders and directing his men; he’s back in Santa Monica, in the world of bedtime stories and overflowing laundry baskets. Teri’s asleep in their bed and Kim is sleeping soundly beneath her purple ruffled canopy with Sam, her favorite teddy bear, cuddled under one chubby arm.

And he’s using up all the hot water in the otherwise silent house at two in the morning.

He turns his back to the spray so it pounds at the stiffness between his shoulder blades. Jack imagines he can still hear the muted white noise from the gunfire fogging his ears, even over the rush of the shower.

He welcomes the sound.

So fucked up, he inwardly scoffs, taking pleasure in this.

Standing there, absently studying his reddening skin, he wonders what Teri would think if she saw him — really saw him — while he was working.

The hell? No. No.

But he realizes then that a part of him — the same part that pulls the trigger every time, the part that allows him to compartmentalize, to detach, to go cold and mechanical and efficient in the space between two breaths — almost wants to know.

And it scares the fuck out of him.

Built that wall for a reason.

Keeping the barrier between his work and family intact is something he’s done since he joined the Army, especially after he became Delta.

That’s the rule, dumbass. Don’t talk about it. Usually can’t, anyway. And Teri understands. Besides, it’s better this way.

Jack reaches for the bar of soap on the ledge.

Right?

If his wife supplanted his image with that of a man with a gun, what would she do? Would she still see her husband as the guy who unclogs the garbage disposal, the man who repaired the Barbie Jeep-sized dent in garage door? Or would she see someone else? A hero? Or a killer with a badge?

She’d be terrified, you sick son of a bitch.

Jack clenches his jaw.

And so would you. Especially if she was in danger.

But if it had been Teri in that lobby earlier, his Teri, how would she have reacted? When it was all over, how would she have looked at him? Would she —

His stomach roils.

He shuts off the shower with an unsteady hand. He doesn’t want Teri in any kind of jeopardy, not for any reason. And certainly not in this twisted hypothetical so he can get off on some perverse, primal ego-stroke.

But if — no.

Disgusted, he pulls back the curtain and reaches for his towel.

Five minutes later, Jack slips into bed with Teri and curls one arm around her side, resting his hand on her stomach.

She stirs, instinctively pressing her shoulder blades against the warmth of his chest.

“Hi,” she mumbles sleepily.

“Hey.” Jack’s lips brush the spot just behind her ear.

“Mmm.” She stretches and tangles one leg between his. “Time is it?”

“Almost two-thirty.”

Her fingers trail down his forearm to splay across the back of his hand. “Killer day.”

He has to stop himself from snorting at the irony. It’s not really all that funny, anyway.

“Everything okay?”

No. “Yeah. Paperwork, drills ran long.”

Teri turns beneath his arm and Jack’s stomach jumps.

Does she know it’s a lie?

Her face is barely a breath from his, features soft and indistinct in the darkness, but he senses the quirk that turns up one side of her mouth.

“Bet you’re tired,” she whispers, toying with a lock of still-damp hair at the nape of his neck.

The tension leaves his body and he licks his lips. “Not really.” He pulls her flush against him.

“Oh?” she teases, dragging her mouth across the day’s worth of stubble on his jaw.

“Yeah, oh,” he mockingly growls, rolling onto his back and taking Teri with him. He’s already half-hard.

She chuckles, and Jack swallows at the low, seductive sound, his skin prickling with desire and guilt and discomfort because in his mind’s eye, he sees another flash of those green eyes in the lobby.

Bastard, he berates himself, banishing the image.

This — Teri shifts to straddle him and his breath hitches — this is what completion feels like. And he doesn’t want to shatter this; it’s enough that Teri knows his job description. She doesn’t need to see who he becomes in the name of duty.

I don’t want her to.

Her palms slide up his chest, to his shoulders; she leans down, dipping her head to trace his collarbone with the tip of her tongue.

Jesus. Jack skims his hands down her sides to grasp her hips, the movements a silent apology for his sickening, unspoken lapse a few minutes ago.

“Love you,” he rasps, his throat tight, and he can feel Teri’s smile against his skin.

And I’ll be damned if you ever see me working, sweetheart.

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