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Disclaimer:
The names of all characters contained here-in are the property of Jerry
Bruckheimer Films, CBS, etc. No infringments of these copyrights are intended,
and are used here without permission. "I've thought about it." Samantha Spade walked out of the kitchen to join her partner on the couch as she made her announcement. For his part, Martin Fitzgerald was transfixed by the hockey game on one of the many speciality sports channels that he subscribed to. He nodded, vaguely aware that she had said something to him. She stared at him for a moment before reaching down and pinching him hard on the thigh. "What the--!" he yelped and jumped away from her. "Sam! What was that for?" He looked at her as if she had just set his hair on fire. She smirked at the reaction and shrugged her shoulders. "I said, I thought about it." Martin narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously, as if she had some evil spirit trapped inside her body. "Thought about what?" It was her turn to stare at the TV. "What you said at work today." Her face was expressionless with no hint of whether she was joking or serious. He watched her for a few moments longer before turning his attention back to the hockey game. "Oh yeah?" He tried to sound only mildly interested in her revelation. She took a long sip of the tea she had just poured for herself. "Yeah." He remained impassive and absorbed in the intermission show. He chuckled at the announcer's comments. "You want to know my conclusions?" she asked, continuing. She watched his eyes flicked back and forth as they showed recent replays of the goals that period. He was, once again hypnotized by the TV. "Martin!" He turned to her slowly, dragging his gaze reluctantly away from the action. He looked at her expectantly and then he noticed the mug she was cradling in her hands. He suddenly realized how thirsty he was. "You didn't bring me any?" He gestured to her steaming tea with a slight look of disappointment and longing. "No. You don't like it, remember? I think your exact words were: 'Ew, herbal tea? Are you one of those new age hippies?' In fact, I'm almost positive you followed that up with a faux retching sound." She smirked at him, taking another long drink of tea, savouring it audibly. He grabbed it from her hands. "What is in this?" He studied the strange green liquid, swishing it carefully around. "You won't like it." She wondered how he could be so interested in her tea but so completely uninterested in continuing their conversation from the office that day. He had seemed so enthralled by the idea earlier. "Are you at all curious to hear my conclusion or would you prefer to be alone with my tea?" "Well…" He trailed off, pretending to contemplate the options. "I'm sure you and it will be very happy together," she stated sarcastically. He smirked in response. He took a small sip of her drink and immediately made a face as the taste hit his tongue. "Eugh, you are a hippy. This tastes like lawn cuttings." He handed the mug back to her, disgust plainly etched on his face. She smiled triumphantly. "I take it back, I choose you. Tell me about your great epiphany today." He moved closer to her, putting an arm around her shoulders. She smiled to herself and finished off her tea. "Well, I gave it some thought, and I say, let's do it," she said encouragingly. "Let's make a sex tape." She refused to meet his eyes, a huge grin plastered on her face. His jaw hung half-open, shock plastered all over his face. He had just been joking around. Was she serious? Had she thought he was? No, she couldn't possibly have actually believed he would say something like that seriously. Could she? He said nothing as she stood, a smug smile of self-satisfaction smeared over her face. She jaunted to the kitchen to put the mug in the sink. After a brief moment of collecting his thoughts, Martin followed her. She was washing a few dishes that had been left over from her evening snack. She munched on a piece of celery as she worked. He walked up behind her, so close that he was pressed against her back. His hands came around her, holding her tightly to him. "You are not serious," he said softly into her ear. He nipped and kissed the soft skin behind her ear gently. She shivered slightly at the contact. "I am," she assured him, amused at his reaction. "Shut up." His hands slid under the hem of her t-shirt, his fingers skimming along her abdomen. "You didn't seem too pleased when I suggested it. I wasn't even serious." He slipped a hand under the loose waistband of her pyjama pants. She nodded in confirmation, quickly finishing her celery. She hesitated a moment before explaining herself. "I am serious. See, I was thinking first, we could start out pretty basic. You know, the usual missionary position. Maybe then I could ride you for a while, cowgirl-like. Course, I would probably come, which means you would too. Then a little later, step it up a notch with some doggy style, maybe a little karma sutra." She explained her ideas with a deadpan expression. She rather unsexily splashed dirty dishwater onto the countertop as she washed a plate. Martin glided his hand between her legs, teasing her subtly. "Y'know, that weird, kinky stuff." "You're already weird and kinky," he chuckled, placing another kiss on her neck. "Then you can fuck me up against the wall, or washing machine, or kitchen table. Your choice." Her voice had a minor lilt in it as she tried not to smile too much. He backed up from her, laughing. "Now I know you're lying… You hate that washing machine." He sat against the kitchen table, observing her with humour. She placed the clean dishes in the drying rack. She laughed again, and turned to look at him. "If you don't want to, I guess I'll just make it myself." "Stop being such a damn tease, Sam. You are the most horrible girlfriend ever known to man," he said in mock-derision. She crossed her arms, looking at him sternly. She didn't seem impressed by his comment. However, her real feelings were given away by a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She struggled to keep a straight face. Martin ignored her and went to the refrigerator to grab a snack for himself. He pulled out some milk. Rooting around in the cupboard adjacent to it, he retrieved a PowerBar to compliment his beverage. Still pretending to ignore her, he lightly pushed her out of the way to grab a mug. As he dawdled back to where he had left the milk, Sam glared at him. She reached into the drying rack and picked out a bowl. In one swift motion, she dipped the bowl into the dishwater and hurled the water at him. The water flew across the short distance, showering a surprised Martin in warm, dirty liquid. "SAMANTHA!" His shocked cry echoed through the apartment. "What the hell was that for?!" Sam on the other hand, although surprised by her own actions, was on the verge of laughing hysterically. She dumped the bowl back in the water and turned away from the sight of her boyfriend dripping and uncomfortable, mouth agape. If she looked at him anymore, she'd fall on the floor in laughter. In an attempt to prevent this possibility she took off running towards Martin's bedroom. He shook the excess water off and pursed his lips in thought. He glanced around the small kitchen, spotting a bucket hiding under the table in the corner. An idea crossed his mind briefly. He discounted it because of the damage he would bring onto his own property. He plodded to his bedroom, throwing open the door. A large lump protruded from the centre of his mattress, buried under his blankets. He crawled on top of her. She mumbled something that was muffled by the amount of blankets. He rolled over and let her crawl out. "You're going to get the sheets all dirty," she stated and gestured at his wet t-shirt. He shrugged. "I guess that's what I get for letting you into my bed." She smacked him with a pillow. "So, is this all because I don't want to make a sex video with you?" she finally asked. Rolling over onto his back, he stared at the ceiling. "I wasn't serious, Sam." "I know." She too rolled onto her back. "It's an interesting idea, all the same." Her voice didn't hold any of the earlier amusement. She sounded downright serious. He glanced over at her. "Really?" "I don't know. It's not like it's way out in left field. Lots of people do it. I'm just really not comfortable with that kind of thing." She let out a long sigh. "Why?" "Oh come on, Martin. Imagine something like that really did get out. It'd be humiliating. Wouldn't it be for you?" They lapsed into silence as Martin debated whether to lie or not. He stretched and arm behind his head. "No." He had chosen the truth. She furrowed her brows in contemplation. "I mean," he continued, "Why would it be?" "Because that's private. Personal." He sighed. "Yeah, I know. But I think you're beautiful. And I'm proud to call you mine. I wouldn't mind everyone else knowing that too." He paused, figuring out how to continue. "Not as a trophy or something to prove, to show off. Just because I'm happy and I'd like to share that. It's just something that I really care about and I feel so…oppressed by the constant secrecy." She rolled over to look at him. "This isn't about the sex tape anymore, is it?" "I don't think it ever was." They both drifted into another silence. Sam wondered if she would ever be able to figure out her qualms with the idea of people knowing. She could come up with about 5 very good reasons why she may be thinking that way. But she and Martin had already hashed out this debate. "For someone who likes to bury her past so deep so it can't touch you, you sure are drowning in it." "Stop it, Martin. Please." Her voice sounded small and distant. She got that look in her eyes that signalled she didn't want to talk anymore. At this junction, she would do one of three things: initiate sex, turn her undivided attention to the TV, or get something to eat and stare into her mug for half an hour. However, this time she just lay in silence, staring at the ceiling. Martin knew not to push her too far. His attempts at work earlier were the invention of a new tactic: annoy her enough to make her give in. He should have known it wouldn't be that easy with Samantha Spade. He listened to her soft breathing, a sound that he had become so accustomed to every night before falling asleep and every morning as he awoke. He could hear her breath catch occasionally in her throat. She was thinking and it was making her upset. It broke his heart to lie wondering about what was so painful she refused to tell him. He wasn't oblivious either. It was slowly, at almost imperceptible intervals, tearing her apart. And that made him ache somewhere inside himself. He wanted to be the one to save her. But at this point, it was beyond his control. She had to save herself now. So far, she wasn't doing a particularly good job of being her own hero. Martin rolled over onto his side. He reached out and brushed her bangs away from her forehead. Her eyes slipped shut. He kept his distance, still unsure if she was still deep in thought. "Martin?" she asked softly. "Yeah," he replied just as quietly. "How do you…" she trailed off. "Do you...love me?" She didn't look over to see his reaction to her pointed question. He let out a long sigh, trying once again to come up with a decent response to another one of her strange questions. "I don't know." He decided that the best course would be simple honesty. "I really can't tell yet. I gave you that ring for a reason and it wasn't marriage or to pledge myself to you eternally. But it's something. I think I might be in love you." She didn't say anything for a long period of time. They returned to the meditative silence. Martin looked out the window. It was raining. Pouring, in fact. He was curious if she would say anything else. He was expecting her to stand up any minute and go for another of her garden-clippings tea. But she stayed still, breathing deeply and slowly. It occurred to Martin that she might have fallen asleep. He propped himself up to look at her. Sam was still awake, her mind spinning. She suddenly and desperately wanted to be alone. She didn't want him looking at her with those eyes full of expectation and adoration. She knew that no matter how much he cared about her, she would never meet his expectations. He had an idea of her that didn't fit inside the real Samantha. She tried to move to go into the kitchen, maybe get a glass of water but her limbs refused. She remained frozen in place. Whether or not he was in love with her wasn't important. She already knew he would do anything for her regardless, he would support her, and he would wait for her. But he wouldn't wait forever. She felt the familiar sensation of tears welling up in her eyes and she wondered why. "I'm scared." She heard her voice suddenly blurt out her thoughts. It sounded unfamiliar as it cracked and it made her feel even more terrified. She angrily wiped her hand across her face, clearing away the drops of vulnerability. He merely gazed at her. "Of?" "You." She sniffled quickly, hiding her face in her hands. "You terrify me." He couldn't formulate a response. He allowed the comment to hang in the air until she felt like continuing, if she felt like explaining. He moved closer and brushed his fingers lightly over her hair. "I have no idea where I am anymore. I have no idea who I am anymore. I don't understand what is happening here and all I know is I'm in something and you're fully at fault. And I think I like it but I can't decide that either. I'm not in control of anything." She tried to wipe the tears away again but she realized they weren't going to stop. "I can't figure out whether to love you or hate you for it." She huffed out a sigh. "I can't help you with that." "I know. I hate that you make me cry. That means more than you know." "I think I understand." He dropped a long kiss on her forehead, lingering there. Pulling back slightly, he smiled. "You should stop rubbing your eyes. You'll just get them irritated and raw." She closed her eyes and felt his forehead rest against hers. She breathed in deeply, trying to calm her rattled nerves. "I'm already raw," she whispered. He shifted to lie next to her, holding her close, sharing the same pillow. He vaguely realized that his t-shirt was now dry and crusty with dirt but if she didn't mind, neither did he. She finally rolled off her back and curled against him, burying her face in his shoulder. The room fell silent again. Her breath hitched as she calmed down and the tears started to slow. Before she could fully regain her composure, her brain decided to make one final revelation. "I hate this...because I think I might be falling for you. And I never wanted this. Not again." "Don't worry. I'll catch you," he whispered. She burst into tears again, pressing her face into the pillow and shaking at his sincerity. He furrowed his forehead and held her tighter, rocking slowly. "Shhh, don't cry, Sam. It's okay. It won't be like you've known. Trust me. Shh..." He rocked her until her sobbing subsided. Then he released his grip slowly. She took a deep breath, clearing her mind. Her noise crinkled. "You smell like the Hudson," she mumbled. He let out a small chuckle. "Not my fault." She smiled, letting out a soft laugh and pushing him away playfully. He grappled her on top of him. She leant down and kissed his cheek, grinning. Pushing he aside gently, he took account of her improved mood and stripped off the grimy t-shirt, giving her the twice over, and smirked. She knew that look. "So, want to make that sex tape now?" She laughed and pulled him back down to her, planting a long kiss on
his lips. End. |